Boy, Disrupted
by the-lovely-anomaly
Summary: The heart has its reasons, when reason itself knows nothing. Zack and Cody both learn this when Cody is hospitalized after having a mental crisis and begins to question sanity itself, and Zack has to come to terms with how his life has changed.
1. Chapter 1

Cody told people he was coming back to Boston to start a new life. It was a likely story. He'd gotten sick of New Haven, Connecticut pretty quickly and had been thinking about coming back for months. Homesickness was a common problem among new college students. It was a believable excuse if there ever was one.

But it wasn't the truth. His coming back home had nothing to do with life.

In fact, on the contrary, he came back to Boston planning to die.

He had everything figured out. He'd called his twin brother Zack and asked if he could stay with him for a while. Zack had been thrilled; he hadn't seen his little brother in almost a year and he'd been missing him terribly. Cody debated about whether or not he was going to bring himself to tell Zack about what happened between him and Brianna, because he already knew that Zack was going to say "I told you so" and Cody really did not want to hear that. But at the same time, he wanted Zack to know that he'd been right about everything. Zack had warned Cody that Brianna would break his heart, and Cody had not listened. He'd argued with Zack repeatedly, mainly over the phone, continuously defending her. In all truthfulness, he'd thought that Zack just wanted her for himself. After all, it was just like him to try to steal his girlfriend; he'd done it enough times when they were younger. And Brianna was beautiful.

But it was different this time. The whole situation was different. Cody had been devastated when she'd left him for another guy…after admitting to cheating on him. Apparently, she used to sneak away while Cody was in class to meet with another guy, and they'd go up to his dorm room and screw. Screw each other's brains out. She'd done it no less than ten times before Cody ever found out.

He was shocked. He couldn't believe it.

He never forgot Zack's exact words to him after meeting Brianna for the first time: "I don't like her. She strikes me as a slut, and believe me, I would know. I've dated a couple of them myself. The way she acts…I don't know…I don't think you should get involved with her. I'd hate to see you end up getting hurt. You could do better than her anyway. I know you can. Bailey was a decent girlfriend; Barbara was a decent girlfriend. You should try to find someone like them. At least find a girl who actually cares for someone else other than herself."

Of course, Cody disputed such comments. He played the faithful boyfriend and told Zack off. "You don't even know her, Zack!" he'd yelled. "She loves me. She'd never hurt me. I've always picked good girlfriends, Zack, unlike you. Trust me, I'm a better judge of character than you _ever_ were!"

As it turned out, this time around Zack had been the better judge of character. And Cody was shattered. He felt so stupid, and used. Like one of those boys you have to pity because they're just so gullible. For days he did nothing but lay in bed, trying to endure the sharp pain erupting in his chest, killing everything that had been there before. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He didn't care about life, or goals. He stopped going to his classes, his grades dropped, his friends were neglected…his world came crashing down and all he wanted was for the avalanche to stop. His heart was throbbing and his whole body felt exhausted, drained, and worthless.

So eventually, he decided to die. He was sure it'd be easy. He'd stay with Zack for a while, tell him that he'd known better all along (he figured Zack deserved that much), apologize for not listening to him, and assure him of his love. Then later, when Zack went off to work, he'd rummage through Zack's bedroom until he found his .45-caliber handgun. He'd load it, point it at himself, and bang…clock himself out early.

Just like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'm Rebecca and this is my very first fan fiction ever. I know I didn't have an author's note on my first chapter. I forgot to put one in and I'm too lazy to go back and change it. **

**I love to write and I'm really excited to see what people think of my skills. Since this is my very first, I hope you all will be gentle with me. But all reviews are welcome. Enjoy! **

**Also, I apologize, but I forgot to add in the disclaimer in the first chapter. So here it is:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Suite Life **_**series.**

Cody knew full well why he didn't like life anymore. But he wasn't so sure how he could go so far as to want to die. He had plenty to live for, and he was aware of that. He loved his brother Zack, and his mom, and his dad, and his friends from school (namely Bob and Barbara), and he still had affection for Bailey, his ex. He wasn't so far gone that he'd completely forgotten about them. He knew they would miss him terribly. As he was rummaging through the bureau in Zack's room, looking for the gun, he thought about what their reactions would be.

Zack would be pissed. Cody could picture him pacing back and forth, clenching his fists, screaming at the top of his lungs, "What was he thinking? What the _hell_ was he thinking? How in fuck's name could he do this?" His mother would cry; he already knew that. He imagined her sitting alone on her couch, back at the Tipton hotel where she still lived and worked as a lounge singer, hugging a pillow to herself and sobbing uncontrollably into it. She would probably cry herself to sleep for several nights. His friends would all have a mixture of feelings. There would be tears (especially from Barbara), and resentment, and most likely some counseling. And Bailey…well, he wasn't exactly sure how Bailey would react. She'd been his girlfriend for the longest time, and they'd been so happy together for a while. Their break up had nothing to do with bad feelings towards each other; it was purely convenience. They'd met on a cruise ship, during a long-term study abroad program called "Seven Seas High" and she'd been his number one girl almost from day one. But it eventually ended. They graduated and had to go their separate ways. It just wasn't logical for them to keep dating. He hadn't really stayed in touch with her (mostly because it was too painful and confusing for the both of them), but he still cared about her and he assumed she felt the same. She would be hurt. How much, he didn't know. But she would be hurt.

The truth of this was engrained in Cody's brain. He had no doubts about it. He didn't _want_ to break the hearts of his loved ones, but at the same time he wanted freedom. Life seemed a cruel joke. A joke that he was dumb enough to be the butt of. He'd set himself up to damaged. He'd opened his heart again to love—which was difficult already due to his break-up with Bailey—and allowed it to enter into him. It felt so beautiful at first. A flutter in his stomach. A jolt shooting up his spine. It was new, and refreshing, and it seemed worth the effort he put into it. But, of course, it wasn't. Cody realized that now. It was never worth the effort. How could it be, when all that came out of it was heartache? He'd fallen for the joke…and in doing so, _became_ the joke.

The punch line was pain.

Finally, when looking through the bottom drawer, Cody saw it—black and shiny, unused. The .45-caliber. Cody picked it up and shifted it in his hand. It was heavier than it looked. And, though he'd never been a fan of guns before, Cody thought it was beautiful. There was a pack of bullets lying next to it. They beckoned to Cody and he gave in.

He knew how to load a gun. He'd learned when he went off to college. A friend whose father was a police officer had shown him. And right now, Cody had never felt so grateful to anyone in his life. He opened the gun, popped a bullet into the chamber, and then snapped it shut.

His heartbeat began to speed up. His fingers began to twitch. This was it. This was the end.

Now, what part of him to shoot at? Instinct said head. That was where most people would shoot if they were going to kill themselves. They'd shoot at the temple, or through the mouth. Or heck, just aiming at the face would do the trick. Cody put the barrel in his mouth and pulled back the lever. He situated his index finger over the trigger…and waited. What he was waiting for was a signal—an okay from his conscience. _Am I really ready to do this_? He didn't want to live anymore, granted, but there was just enough self-appreciation left in him to want to be absolutely prepared.

His felt his heart beating in his throat. Pulsing in his ears. As though it was desperately trying to beat as many times as it could before it would have to stop.

_Pull the trigger. Go ahead, pull the trigger. _

He'd carried out his plan so far. He'd told Zack everything he had in mind to tell him. As soon as he showed up on his brother's doorstep and Zack was standing there in front of him, the first words that came out of his mouth were: "You were right. I'm sorry. I'm _so _sorry." Then he'd gotten silent and just stood there, gazing down at his shoes.

Zack had opened his arms, saying, "Come here, buddy," and Cody had walked into his embrace without thinking twice. Hot tears stung Cody's eyes but he refused to let them fall. He had too much dignity for that. He was gentle-hearted and, as a child, used to cry over some of the simplest things. But not this time. This time, he told himself to suck it up and be brave. There was no reason to cry anyway; he wasn't going to be around for much longer.

It took him two hours to tell Zack everything. He told him about the dates, the talks, the sneaking out unexpectedly (which he had noticed but never questioned), and then he told him about the final confession Brianna made to him…the one that broke him down. "Please," Cody pleaded, "please, don't say you told me so. I know you did, but still…please don't say it." He wasn't sure if Zack was going to say it or not, but he begged him not to just in case. Zack nodded. He offered for Cody to stay as long as he wanted and to make himself at home.

"It'll be alright, Codes. You're better off now without her anyway. I have to go to work tomorrow. But if you ever want to talk when I'm home, I'm here."

"Thanks Zack."

"No problem."

Zack stood up from the sofa where he'd been sitting next to Cody and turned to leave the room. It was almost 11 p.m. and Zack had to be up at 6 the next morning. Right at that moment, Cody realized he'd forgotten to tell Zack one more thing. "Oh, and Zack?"

Zack turned back around. Cody looked awkwardly at his hands, which had been folded on his lap. This was something he didn't normally tell Zack. "I love you."

"I love you too, man."

Zack left the room. When he was gone, a single tear had slid down Cody's cheek. He'd wiped it away.

That all happened the day before. Now Zack was at work and Cody was in Zack's house by himself, holding Zack's .45 over his tongue, the barrel taking dead aim at his throat and his index finger lightly sweating on the trigger. Now he was at the part where he was going to free himself from his emotional agony.

But suddenly a revelation came to him: he didn't want to go by a shot in the head. That was too cliché. Sure, it would get him the way he wanted to be, but nevertheless, it was too quick. Cody closed his eyes and felt the soft thumping of his heart. _My stupid, compassionate, ever-so-loving heart_, he thought. It was responsible for all this. It was responsible for his pain.

And when was it ever not? It takes a heart to love, and love is blind and idiotic. Cody thought about how pathetic it was that he'd been so determined to find love. He'd had a passion for it that was like fire. He'd sought it with every fiber of his being, never knowing that such a fire would eventually burn him. _I'm such a masochist. _

His heart deserved punishment. Cody took the gun out of his mouth and pressed the barrel up against his chest. This was a more painful way to go than a shot in the head, he knew that. But he preferred it anyway. He wanted the bullet to go into his heart. He wanted to bleed it out.

It was beating even faster now, if that was possible. So fast that the beats could not be distinguished from each other.

_Pull the trigger, pull the trigger, pull the trigger._

Cody heard the front door of the house open and close. He heard feet shuffling across the carpet. Then Zack's voice—"Hey, Cody? You still here?" Cody faltered. Zack wasn't supposed to be home yet. His shift was just starting!

Cody took in a deep breath. _My last full breath_, he thought. That was the last thing that went through his mind before he squeezed the trigger. A loud bang pierced his ears. The force of the bullet knocked him onto his back and a sharp burst of intense pain erupted in his chest. He glanced downward. His white shirt was rapidly staining crimson.

He barely noticed when Zack came barging into the room, a worried expression on his face. When he spotted Cody lying there, bleeding and weakening, his eyes widened with shock. "Oh my God!" he gasped. He darted over to him and crouched at his side. "Oh my God!" he repeated. "Cody...Cody, what have you done? Huh? What've you fucking done?" He placed his hands on the wound and applied as much pressure as he could. It wasn't enough. The blood continued to flow, seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

Zack knew he had to call somebody. He had to get an ambulance over there immediately. Otherwise, Cody would die. "Hold on," he told him. Then he got back up and rushed over to the phone, which was sitting at the far side of his room, next to his computer.

Cody reached his arm out to Zack, trying to stop him. He wanted to tell Zack not to save him. To tell him that this was his choice. But he was too late. Zack was already on the phone, and Cody could feel his body shutting down. The loss of blood was taking its toll. It would soon be over.

They say that, when you're dying, you spend the last moments you have left remembering your life. It replays in your head like an old, familiar movie. The phrase commonly used is "flashing before your eyes." But for Cody, that didn't happen. The only thing his mind was able to register was Zack standing a few feet away from him, talking frantically over the phone. Tears were pouring down his face and his voice was breaking.

_I'm sorry, Zack. I'm sorry you don't understand why I had to do this. I love you. Really, I do._

Within moments, Cody lost consciousness.

…………

Zack Martin was already at work before he realized he'd left his papers at home. He worked for a company called _Rowland Moors Inc. _as a constructor. He liked it. It paid decent money and he thought the work was easy enough. Zack was gifted at building things. In high school, the only class he ever excelled at was wood shop which, ironically, his brother Cody had been terrible at. Cody was better than him at everything else—everything that people considered important_._ He was great at math, and English, and history, and science. He was a teacher's pet. Zack, on the other hand, was often considered a walking disease among the school staff. He hated to admit it, but he was jealous of Cody's achievements. Academics came so easily to Cody. Zack had to put forth an unbearable amount of effort to do as well as his brother did, and he didn't particularly take kindly to effort. He ended up scraping by with average—and below average—grades, frequently leaving his teachers with bad memories and hopes of never having him in class again. But wood shop had been different. His teacher had been fond of him because he was good at constructing things out of wood. And he enjoyed it.

Cody had been overjoyed when Zack told him about his job as a construction worker. "It pays well," he said. "And it should be easy for you."

He was right. Zack was well-liked among his co-workers. His boss admired him too.

But today was turning out to not be Zack's day. As soon and he pulled into his parking spot behind the taped off construction area, grabbed his duffle bag from the back seat and looked inside, he swore under his breath. The blueprints weren't there. He'd worked on them for days and this was the day he had to present them to his boss. Zack had never been absent-minded about his job before. He took it very seriously. The two-hour talk he and Cody had the night before had gotten him distracted. He'd been thinking about his brother all morning.

It was 7:54 a.m. His shift started at 8. He had to tell his boss about the blueprints.

He found his boss, Mr. Hayman, standing in a circle with some other workers who were already wearing their working gear. Zack wasn't too afraid of him. Mr. Hayman liked Zack and was aware that he was a diligent employee. Sucking in a breath, Zack lowered himself beneath the yellow tape marking off the construction site and went over to his boss. He tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh, morning Zack," Mr. Hayman said cheerfully after turning around to face him. "How'd you do on those blueprints? I can't wait to see 'em."

"Yeah, about them…" Zack murmured, "I don't have them with me."

Mr. Hayman didn't look angry, though a puzzled "What do you mean?" came out his mouth.

"Look, sir, I'm really sorry, but my brother came back to Boston last night. He's been going through some personal problems and he came to my house to talk to me. I was thinking about him a lot this morning and…well…I kind of forgot to put the blueprints in my duffle bag."

Mr. Hayman sighed.

"I'm really, really sorry sir," Zack said urgently.

"Do you think you could drive back to your house real quick and grab 'em?"

"Yes!"

Mr. Hayman nodded. "Okay, you go do that. I ain't gonna yell at you cause I know you've never done anything like this before. Just make sure it doesn't happen again. If you say you were talking to your brother last night, then I believe you."

Zack was immensely grateful. "Thank you so much, sir! I promise it won't happen again." As fast as he could, he jumped back into his car and took off.

He tried to drive the speed limit on his way home. The last thing he needed right now was a speeding ticket. But it was difficult. He was so anxious to get those blueprints. Today was supposed to be a big day for him. The day when his colleagues and superiors viewed his ideas for the new supermarket they were putting in. He'd been so excited about it over the last few weeks and this was supposed to be the day that his creativity shined.

He was so frustrated with himself. Why did he have to spend all morning thinking about Cody? Cody would be fine. He was strong. Sure, he was broken up over what happened between him and Brianna, but that was just temporary. He would get over it soon enough and resume living his life the way he had been before. He'd go back to college, work hard, find another girlfriend (a better one), and be happy. _Jesus, why am I worrying so damn much_? Zack asked himself. _Why am I not able to concentrate on my work_?

As fate would have it, if Zack had concentrated on his work instead of worrying so much, and did not have to go back home when he did, he would have come home to find Cody dead.

When Zack entered the house, he did not know whether or not Cody was still there. He'd told him that he could stay as long as he liked, but Cody had never specified how long he intended that to be. He wasn't in the living room, and he wasn't in the kitchen. "Hey, Cody?" he called out. "You still here?" There was no answer.

Less than a minute later, Zack heard the gunshot from his room.

Pain inexplicably began to form in his own chest. He didn't know what it was—whether it was physical pain or merely a manifestation of his dread. But either way, it was clearly there. Zack rushed to his room. When he opened the door, he couldn't believe what he saw. He didn't want to believe it. But he had to.

There was Cody, lying limply on the floor, blood soaking through his shirt. Next to his hand was his .45-caliber, just recently used.


	3. Chapter 3

**I did some research for this chapter since I needed to know some medical stuff. Initially, I intended for the doctors to use a defibrillator (a device with electrical paddles) to try to shock Cody to life because that's what I'm used to seeing in healthcare dramas. However, when I looked online at what doctors do for flat lined patients, I found that they actually do CPR. Apparently defibrillators are for slowing the heart down when it's beating too fast. Who knew! :) **

**Also, I researched CPR. In movies, people do about five compressions. I'm pretty sure it used to be that way. But now the rules have changed. According to the Red Cross, you're supposed to do thirty compressions and then two slow breaths. Just thought I'd mention that so no one is confused.**

**Well, that's all. I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own **_**The Suite Life **_**series**_**.**_

There was a constant high-pitched beep coming from the monitor that recorded Cody's heartbeats. He'd just flat lined. Dr. Maps pressed his hands on Cody's chest, one on top of the other. He was going to perform CPR. He didn't know if it would work; the bullet was still lodged in the boy's chest. But it was the only thing he knew of to do. He couldn't take the bullet out until he'd gotten the boy's heartbeat back.

There were three other medical professionals in the room too. They were all running around, fiddling with the machines. Dr. Maps paid little attention to them. He began a series of compressions. One, two, three, four, five…

Once he hit thirty, he bent over, touched his lips to Cody's, and gently blew two full breaths of air into his lungs.

He began pressing again.

"Come on, kid!" he begged. "Don't do this! You can't die. You're too young to die!"

He reached thirty again and bent to blow two more breaths into him.

The monitor was still beeping. The green line on the screen was still flat.

"_Please_!" Dr. Maps implored. "Please, kid!"

Dr. Lee, his assistant, looked at her watch. "Doctor," she said softy.

Dr. Maps ignored her, beginning the compressions yet again.

"Doctor!" Dr. Lee repeated. "Sir, you should stop now. There's nothing more we can do. He's gone."

"NO!" Dr. Maps yelled, still continuing to press. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

"Sir, it's been over two minutes." Dr. Lee touched her hand to his shoulder. "It's time for us to call it. We did what we could. We were just too late."

Dr. Maps stopped pressing. He gazed down at the boy, and then buried his face in his hands and whimpered. "Oh, no…" Tears slid down his cheeks as Dr. Lee pronounced Cody Martin officially deceased.

Dr. Maps had been a doctor for many years. He was in his forties; his hair was naturally auburn but it was starting to turn gray, and his forehead was developing creases. He was very intellectual. He loved what he did for a living because the idea of saving lives was always rewarding in his opinion. He wouldn't trade his career for anything.

But he was also very compassionate—more so than most of the other doctors in the hospital—and it killed him to admit when he lost someone he tried to save. Young people especially. The thought of losing someone who'd barely gotten the chance to live was intolerable to him. It was worse for him than it was for Dr. Lee. She cared about people, just as he did. But unlike him, she was more willing to own up to the fact that she could not humanly save everyone who needed saving. "People die," she would tell Dr. Maps, over and over again. "It's the way the world works."

But Dr. Maps' heart refused to acknowledge that.

"We should go tell his family," Dr. Lee declared. "They're in the waiting room. You want to do it? Or should I?"

Dr. Maps didn't answer her. He stared sadly at the motionless form of Cody on the bed. _What a waste. What a sad waste._ He had been told what Cody did to himself. Zack informed him about the .45-caliber, the shot, the blood. _It's so tragic. This poor boy needed help. _

The other professionals were busy disconnecting the machines and turning them off. Since the patient was dead, they were no longer necessary. But before they shut off the monitor, a miraculous thing happened…the green line on the screen peeked and a singular beep sounded. Everyone braced themselves. It did it again. And again. And again.

Dr. Lee had almost left the room when she saw it. She was shocked. This couldn't be happening. Cody was clearly dead. She'd just _pronounced _him dead. A dead person's heart couldn't beat. But there it was, right in front of her—the truth. Dr. Lee didn't believe in miracles. But this made her think about starting to.

Dr. Maps checked Cody's breathing. It was stable. His heartbeat returned to normal. He didn't particularly believe in miracles either, but he wasn't going to argue with what was directly in front of his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief. "Okay," he said, "we've gotta get this bullet out of him now."

They began prepping Cody for the operation.

…………

The waiting room was an agonizing place to be for Zack Martin. He sat quietly in his chair, sandwiched between his mom, Carey, and his dad, Kurt, transfixed by the regular comings and goings—by the sight of strangers crying and comforting each other—anxious to hear about his brother. He'd been sitting for well over an hour and his butt had already gone numb. His mom had tried to interest him in going to the cafeteria to get some food, but he wouldn't do it. He didn't trust himself to eat; with the way his stomach had constantly been cramping lately, he was sure anything that went in was guaranteed to come back up.

His parents hadn't moved either. Carey had remained in her chair for as long as Zack had remained in his. In her hands, she clutched the blue blanket Cody had prized as a child; he'd called it his "blankie" and would use it to wrap himself up or shield his eyes when he was scared of something (he got scared easily when he was little). He'd left it with her when he went off to Yale, and she thought it appropriate to have it with her now. She'd sobbed into it multiple times. It was still wet with her tears. Kurt had kept rubbing her back and trying to convince her that Cody would be okay, even though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well.

Aside from comforting, none of them had really spoken to each other since arriving at the hospital. They didn't know what to say. Someone they loved very dearly had just tried to take his own life. It would have been one thing if Cody had been shot by someone they didn't know—still horrible, but simpler to react to in a way because it would have been easy to hate the culprit. But the notion that Cody would shoot himself was something else entirely. What were they supposed to say about that? What were they supposed to feel? They couldn't hate Cody, could they? No, they could never hate Cody. They could be pissed off at him…they could be confused by him…but they could never hate him.

At one point, Zack had closed his eyes. When his mom asked him why his eyes were closed, he said he was praying. And he was. Zack didn't pray much; he wasn't devoutly religious. But it seemed like the only thing he was capable of doing to help Cody. He was worried beyond his own reasoning and he figured that if the doctors couldn't save his little brother, then God might. _Cody's a gentle soul_, Zack assured himself. _God wouldn't let him die._ His mother enfolded him in her arms and began to cry again.

Now they were sitting silently. Carey kept her head down, pretending to be intrigued by the pattern on the carpet; Kurt did the same, keeping his arm slung around Carey's shoulder; Zack gazed straight ahead, blatantly staring at the white wall in front of him.

Eventually they saw Dr. Lee approaching them. All three immediately got to their feet. Zack's stomach was doing summersaults. _Oh God…oh Jesus…please._

"Mr. Martin," Dr. Lee said, addressing Kurt. Then she turned to Carey. "Ms. Martin. I have some good news—Cody is alive!"

They all simultaneously breathed in respite. Zack's stomach calmed down a little.

"For a moment," Dr. Lee continued, "we lost him. He flat lined. I had to call him dead."

"Oh…_God_!" Carey bowled over, more from alarm than from grief, and wailed. "My baby! My baby! Kurt, our baby died! He _died_,Kurt!"

Shock had overwhelmed Kurt as well. His arms trembled as they scooped up Carey, and his voice was nearly inaudible as he muttered, "But he's—he's okay now, Carey. He's alive. Don't worry, he's alive. They saved him."

"Yes," Dr. Lee cut in, "he _is _alive. But he's not out of the woods yet. The bullet still has to be removed."

"You mean you still haven't taken it out?" Zack asked, surprised.

"We couldn't. Not for the time being. When he flat lined, our main concern was trying to bring him back…and we managed to do that, thankfully. Now we have to perform surgery on him. Later I'll come back to let you know how the operation goes." She turned on her heels and started to walk away.

"Wait!" called Zack. "Doctor, how badly is he hurt…I mean, do you think you could get the bullet out—um—easily?"

"Easily? No. But you should stay positive."

Zack swallowed. "I see." His voice shook. "Do you know where the bullet is exactly?"

Dr. Lee nodded. She did know. They had taken x-rays of Cody's chest when he was rushed in. Her expression became sympathetic. "It's sitting just behind the thoracic aorta, probably within the diaphragm muscle. We'll have to perform a thoracotomy on him."

Zack didn't know what a thoracotomy was, and he didn't ask. The word sounded bad in and of itself. It sounded like a form of torture. He wasn't sure he wanted to be filled in on the gritty details of emergency procedures. All he was certain of was that Cody's chest was going to be cut open. His _chest_. One of the most fragile parts of the body. The part that Cody himself had already damaged. They were going to slice it open even more.

There was only one thing Zack wanted to ask. "What would you say are the chances of his survival?" That was the real question—that one that lingered in Zack's mind. What were the chances? What was the ratio of whether or not they would get to take Cody out of there, or have to bury him?

Dr. Lee looked into Zack's eyes for an elapsing minute that felt longer than it really was. "Usually, thoracotomies do more harm than good," she confessed. "But it's the only thing we can do for a case like this. They _have_ been successful now and then, but…it's rather rare."

The blood drained from Zack's head, making him feel arctic and looking like a ghost. He had to sit back down to keep from fainting. _No, no, no, no_…

He heard his mom on the floor, bawling even louder. It was a wonder she hadn't run out of tears yet. His dad was still holding onto her, though he was crying too. Zack couldn't remember ever seeing his father cry before. It was disorienting.

"Think of it this way, though," Dr. Lee told Zack softly, "your brother flat lined and he's still okay. That is _extremely_ rare. If he could pull through that, he could pull through this."

"You think so?" Zack questioned, clinging on to any string of hope he could find.

"Just think positive. Have some faith in him."

With that, Dr. Lee disappeared into the hallway.

_Have faith in him_? _How_? _He was the one who put himself in this situation_. Zack's mind was a montage of worry, sorrow, confusion, and hope…very little hope.

............

The first thing Cody saw when he woke up was a bright light shining in his face. He couldn't remember anything after passing out. One minute, he was in Zack's room dying; then the next, he was lying on a bed, looking up into a light that was blinding him. It was blurry at first, and Cody thought it was beautiful. He considered that it might be the light at the end of his tunnel—that he'd succeeded in taking himself out of the world and was about to enter heaven. He wanted to reach for the light, to make sure that it was real. But his arms felt so heavy. He couldn't move. _Maybe I'm caught in limbo_, he thought. And then he panicked. The idea of being caught in limbo seemed worse than being alive. He would be trapped forever, in purgatory.

Then, after a minute or two, his eyes began to adjust and he realized that the light was nothing divine. It was fluorescent. He was still _in_ the world after all.

There were voices—very muffled at first, but growing clearer by the second. "He's awake!" gasped a man.

"Thank God!" replied woman.

"Check his vital signs!" a third woman added.

Cody could feel gloved hands running along the course of his body, pushing against his skin.

"Damn!" said the man. "This kid has a heart of steel!"

_A heart of steel_, Cody repeated mentally. Well, that was just perfect.

Though Cody could barely move, he managed to tilt his head just far enough to see that he was in a hospital emergency room. There was an I.V. in his wrist, a tube in his nose, machines. He felt exhausted. Heavy. Half-dead.

_I was supposed to be all dead. _

His eyelids were like lead. He couldn't keep them up. Finally, he decided it was best not to try.

"He's going back to sleep again," intoned one of the women (Cody couldn't tell which). "The drugs haven't wore off yet."

"They will soon," added the man.

Cody succumbed to his drowsiness and drifted off.

…………

When Cody woke the second time, he found himself alone. He wasn't drowsy anymore. In fact, he felt wide awake. When he looked around, he could tell that he was in a different room. He was wrapped securely in a warm blanket and the tubes were all gone. His body still felt heavy though. He felt like he was made of lead.

The silence was a bit nerve-wracking, especially since he didn't know where he was. His thoughts were his only source of company, and he welcomed them.

_I wonder how Zack is. He wasn't supposed to see me…or, more accurately, I wasn't supposed to see him. I was supposed to already be gone by the time he got there. I still can't get his face out of my head. I'm never going to be able to, I know that. _

_I'm sure he told our parents about what I did. I wonder what they thought when they found out I tried to kill myself…and failed. God damn it, I should have just left the gun in my mouth. I shouldn't have worried so much about punishing my heart; I should have kept my focus on getting dead. That was the whole idea, wasn't it? Getting dead. Now I'm condemned to living like…like an invalid. _

Cody felt the tears well in his eyes.

_That's what I am now. An invalid. A fucking disabled person. And what's worse, everybody'll think I'm crazy. They'll all think I'm disturbed. I'm NOT disturbed. I'm just hurt. That's all I ever was—hurt! Sick and tired of this fucking world. I never wanted to upset my loved ones. I knew I would, but that was inevitable. It seemed a small price to pay for freeing myself. They would have healed. They would have moved on without me. _

_Why did I have to be saved?_

Suddenly, a man wearing a lab coat walked into the room. He appeared to be in his forties, with a semi-creased face and relatively dark hair that was going gray along the sides. In his hands, he held a clipboard with some papers on it.

His eyes met Cody's and he gave him a discomfited smile. "Hello, Mr. Martin. I'm Dr. Maps. I'm the one who presided over your surgery. You're in the recovery room now. Do you know how lucky you are to be in here?"

There was a lump in Cody's throat. A tear escaped his eye and slid down his cheek. "Why did you do this to me?" he asked, his voice cracked with emotion.

Dr. Maps was stunned. "Do what to you?"

"Why did you bring me back? Why did you bring me back _here_, to this shit-hole of a world? Why didn't you let me go, huh?" Cody swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "Why didn't you just let me go?"

There was a chair next to the bed where Cody was lying. Dr. Maps sat in it and stared Cody down disapprovingly. "Where was it you planned on going?"

"I don't know. Someplace better? Someplace where…where it doesn't hurt so much." Cody flashed Dr. Maps a desperate look. "If you'd only let me go, I could have been there by now!"

There was a long moment of silence between Cody and Dr. Maps, in which they did nothing but gaze at each other, trying to analyze each other's emotions.

Then a hopeful thought struck Cody. _Maybe it's not too late. I failed this time but I could try again. Sure, my family will be watching me like hawks now, but they can't possibly watch me every single second of every single day. Maybe I could find time to do something else…like find pills. I would prefer using a gun, but that's no longer an option. Fat chance of me getting my hands on a gun anytime soon. Pills would probably be my best bet. They'd work. And they're everywhere. _

Dr. Maps seemed to have read his mind. "You're not going to try to kill yourself again," he said seriously. "I'm turning you over to a psychiatric facility. As soon as you're fully recovered, you'll be sent to Fairoaks Asylum here in Boston."

His words sent a shiver down Cody's spine. Fairoaks _Asylum_? "You're sending me to an asylum? A nut house?"

"You clearly need help, Mr. Martin. I don't think family support is going to be enough. I think it best that you get exposed to professional psychiatrists who can find out why you're so...disrupted."

"_Disrupted_?" Cody shouted. He was furious. "You think I'm mentally disrupted? So you're sending me to a shrinking place?"

"I just want to help you, kid." Dr. Maps glanced down at his clipboard. "You don't know this, but when you were in the ER, you flat lined. Do you know what that means?"

Cody didn't answer, but he knew what it meant.

"It means that, technically, you died. We lost you. And I remember looking at you, thinking how sad—how wasteful—it was that a young man like you would do such a thing to yourself." Dr. Maps paused. Cody thought he saw the man tearing up. "I met your family. Your brother Zack—he's your twin, isn't he? I spoke to him. I spoke to your parents also. They're such great people…and they love you."

Dr. Maps wiped his hand across his eyes and sniffled. For the first time since Dr. Maps came into the room, Cody averted his eyes from him.

"You broke their hearts, kid," Dr. Maps added. "They love you and you broke their hearts."

"But none of them know _my _heart," Cody practically whispered.

Dr. Maps had heard him. "You never gave them a chance to," he replied.

Then he told Cody his family was going to come in and see him, and he walked out of the recovery room.

Once again, Cody was left to welcome his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Phew! This chapter was a rollercoaster of emotions—especially the first part. I feel kind of drained after writing it. I listened to a lot of music to get myself inspired (namely the song "Black" by Pearl Jam). I'm satisfied with the results.**

**With this chapter, like the last one, I did some research (okay, a lot of research). Mainly I looked up how people should go about recovering from heart surgery. Though I don't mention every single little detail, I state the basics.**

**Also, just so everyone knows, Fairoaks Asylum doesn't exist. However, I'm going to base bits and pieces of it off of various real psychiatric hospitals that I research.**

**Disclaimer: Again, I do not own **_**The Suite Life **_**series.**

It was decided that not all of Cody's family members should go into the recovery room at once. Typically, when several people crowded around a patient who'd attempted suicide, there was an undue amount of emotional strain (and not to mention, some verbal abuse). So it was determined that Zack, Carey, and Kurt would each have to take turns going in and talking to him.

Zack went in first.

When he stepped into the recovery room and saw Cody lying on a bed, fully awake, the first feeling that came over him was elation. Cody was alive. And he was awake. He had survived the thoracotomy and now all that was left was the healing process. Zack didn't take into account in that moment how the healing process would be difficult, mainly because it would have to encompass both Cody's body _and _his mind. The tremendous relief that Zack initially felt drowned out any trace of resentment in him. He felt like a child again—a child who'd just received the best Christmas gift ever.

Dr. Maps had told Zack to be extremely gentle with Cody since he'd just come out of surgery and his body (especially his chest) was very fragile, but Zack forgot all about that when he saw his brother. Without thinking, he ran over to the bed Cody was in, knelt down beside it, and buried his face in the crook of his twin's neck. He didn't intend to cry, but he cried anyway. "Oh, Cody…Cody…Cody…Cody…" He couldn't stop saying his name. He felt that if he stopped, Cody would disappear. "Oh, Cody…my Cody…my little Cody…"

Slowly, Cody tilted his head to the side and kissed Zack's hair. "Zack, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. I didn't want to hurt you. That was never my intention. I was just looking for an escape, that's all. I wanted an escape from the pain. You were supposed to move on after I was gone. You and everyone else…you all were supposed to be okay."

Right then, Zack's joy was tainted by a sudden jolt of rage. Part of him wanted to hold it back—to not spoil the moment. But he couldn't; the surge was too strong. "Why did you do it, Codes?" he asked bitterly. "How _could _you do it? How could you even _consider_…?" His voice trailed off as he pulled away from Cody, giving him a dangerous glare. "I'll never understand it. You know that? No matter what you say, I'll never understand it."

Cody sighed heavily. He was prepared for this. "Zack, it wasn't supposed to be like this. It had nothing to do with you," he tried to defend himself.

"Nothing to do with me?" The daggers in Zack's eyes sharpened. Cody almost cringed. He'd never in his life seen his brother so infuriated before. "Cody, _everything _you do has something to do with me! You're my brother. My _only _brother! You're like my other half! Don't you realize that? I love you! Did you hear that, Cody? I LOVE YOU!"

"I know, Zack. I love you, too." Cody murmured those words, but Zack heard them perfectly.

"You know what, Cody? I'm not sure you do. I used to think you did. But now, I don't think so."

"What do you mean you don't think so?" Cody asked in sudden agitation. "I _told _you I loved you just the other day!"

"And then you tried to off yourself behind my back! Honestly, did you once think about how that would make me feel? Did you think about what that would do to me?"

Cody sighed with exasperation. He really did not want to be talking about this right now. "Zack, just—just shut up, okay? Just fucking shut up! You were right; you'll never understand it, no matter what I say. So you might as well just let it be!"

Zack sucked in an unsteady breath. He needed to calm down. His face was flushing hot and his vision was beginning to get impaired by a sheet of crimson. _I guess people really do see red when they're angry enough_. "How about if you explain it to me?" he suggested, in a somewhat reasonable tone.

"Why should I?" Cody retorted. "There's no reason to."

_Stay calm. Stay calm. _"Look, I won't pretend to sympathize with you. What you did was selfish and immoral, and I think a part of me may not be able to forgive you for it. But, nonetheless, I know you've been hurting. You were hurting long before you came to see me. I wanted to help you then, and you wouldn't let me. But I'm going to help you now. Tell me what happened."

"I already ran you through the memo, Zack. I told you what happened the day I arrived."

"You _can't_ expect me to believe that was it. I know you better than that, Codes. You've been through failed relationships before; there was Bailey, Barbara, that one girl you were _really _broken up about for a while…Irma, I think? Yeah, Irma. But with them, you never went this far. You never tried to _kill _yourself!"

Cody was completely aware that Zack was right; there was something else, besides a simple break-up brought on by unfaithfulness—something that Cody hadn't told him, mostly because he wasn't even sure what it was. It went far beyond a slutty girlfriend—something that hurt so badly his ribcage felt like it was falling in. But he wouldn't tell Zack about that now. He didn't think he ever would. "Get to the point, will you!" he shouted.

Zack gave up trying to stay calm. "What makes this one so special, Cody? This one _cheated_ on you! She used you! She constantly ran off to screw around with another guy, and then turned around and lied to your face about how she cared for you. You were a tool to her, man—something to make her look good! She finally had to tell you the truth because she didn't want to keep up the pretense anymore!"

"You think I don't know that?"

"If you knew that, then why would you think she was worth dying for? Seriously, not that suicide is ever right, but of all the girls you could choose to end your life over, it _had _to be this one? The most pathetic one? Dear God, please…help me grasp the way your twisted, delusional mind works!"

"It's not as simple as that, Zack! You don't know the whole story! You didn't feel how I felt! You didn't _see_ me break!"

Zack assumed he was referring to when Brianna told him about the other guy. It wasn't, but Cody didn't contradict him. "It's nothing you've never heard before. And besides, it doesn't matter! I know it wasn't anything to die over. Nothing is worth that, Cody. Nothing!" Zack had to take another breath. He figured he had to have had a fever by then because his face was burning up. The fury was using up all his energy.

"You only say that because I'm your brother," Cody stated.

For once, what Cody said made sense to Zack. "Yes, you _are_ my brother. And it's _my_ job to protect you…"

Before he could finish, a doctor—a raven-haired woman in a lab coat, wearing latex gloves and glasses—entered the recovery room with a look of annoyance on her face. "What is going on in here?" She said in frustration. "I heard shouting from outside. People from down the hall could hear it too." She turned to Zack. "You know, visiting in the recovery room is a privilege. If you're upsetting the patient, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to leave."

Zack was tempted to argue with her. Or at the very least, to tell her to get lost. But he didn't do either. He didn't have the energy, or the will. Instead, he looked at her guiltily and said, "Sorry, ma'am."

"Okay, well, if I hear it again, I'm forcing you out." She eyed Zack seriously, and then walked back out the door.

Zack returned his focus toward Cody. "I'm _going_ to protect you, Cody," he declared. "As soon as you're done with your recovery, you're going to be sent to a psychiatric hospital. It's called Fairoaks, and it's not too far from here. The doctors have been arranging it; they've been getting the referral papers ready and everything."

Cody already knew this, but for some reason hearing it from Zack was a lot more intimidating than hearing it from Dr. Maps. He felt his intestines tighten with fear. _A psyche ward_, he thought. _They're really gonna send me to a loony bin._

"And I'm not going to bail you out," Zack added. "I've bailed you out of a lot of things in the past, but not this time. This time I'm going to watch, because I know you need this. You may not think you do. But I _know _you do."

Again, Cody's eyes brimmed with tears. Zack pretended not to notice them.

"I think I should go now," he said. "Mom and Dad are determined to see you."

Zack left the recovery room and was soon replaced by his and Cody's mom. However, as soon as she came in, Cody immediately missed Zack. Zack may have lost his temper with him, but all his mom did was sob hysterically and remind him over and over again that he was her baby.

…

Cody remained in the hospital for a week before being released. That wasn't so bad in his opinion. What _was_ bad was what came afterward.

Cody's existence would have to be very supervised for a while, primarily because of his heart surgery. On the day of his discharge from the hospital, Dr. Maps took him and his family aside and ran them through a list of how things would have to be for Cody until he fully recovered (that is, physically speaking): he wouldn't be able to drive for at least 4 weeks because his reaction time would be significantly impaired; he wouldn't be able to lift objects over 10 pounds for 5 to 6 weeks; his temperature would have to be taken each day because bodily responses to the surgery could cause a dramatic increase or decrease in body temperature; he would have to take a boatload of pain-relievers, which would all be given to him by someone else (Cody knew why that was); and then, eventually, he would need to routinely exercise to strengthen his heart muscle.

Cody thought it felt like being tied up.

Plus, there was the place where he was headed—Fairoaks Asylum. The loony bin. And he wouldn't be an out-patient there either. Attempted suicides rarely were. This would be a 24-hour lockdown, every day. Just like prison. No one knew how long his sentence would be. He would leave whenever the authorities said he could. Whenever they decided he was sane enough to return to the world. They would hold the keys to his freedom.

His well-being would be in the hands of a bunch of psychiatric nurses—nurses who were accustomed to screaming and cursing, and temper tantrums, who had seen grown men struggling in strait jackets, and who had been toughened by years of stress and abuse.

Cody didn't want to be alive at this point. But he was. And his life was crashing down.

…

If Cody didn't know any better, he would have thought Fairoaks Asylum was a mansion. It wasn't just one building, but an array of several buildings connected together. Its appearance, when viewing from the front, was like something out of a folktale—red brick walls, high-peeked roofing, white edging around the barred windows, a lawn of freshly mown grass, an enclosed pavilion off to the side. The scariest thing about it though was the large, intimidating sign that hung from the tip of the entrance archway, reading "FAIROAKS ASYLUM."

Cody arrived there in a cab. He'd received a visit not long before his release from the hospital by a counselor who came to speak to him about life in an asylum. He'd seemed strangely eager to admit Cody into Fairoaks. In fact, he was so excited that he insisted on arranging Cody's transportation himself. From the moment he met the guy, Cody hated him. He reminded him of a counselor Zack had the misfortune of meeting while at "Seven Seas High" who'd been nuttier than a fruitcake.

But Cody couldn't complain about the transportation. It wasn't like he could drive to Fairoaks anyway; his driving was suspended for the time being.

The counselor rode with him. When the cab driver parked at the entranceway, the counselor reached into his front pants pocket, pulled out his wallet, and paid the man. "Thank you very much, sir," he said. Then he took Cody by the elbow and gently pulled him out of the car behind him. Two nurses were there waiting. One was tall and thin with long, blonde hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and the other was short and stubby with frizzy, red curls that reminded Cody of an afro.

They both smiled. The blonde's smile was noticeably friendlier. "Hello, Mr. Martin," she told him kindly. "My name's Jenny. Jenny Kroft, but you can call me Jenny. And this"—she pointed at the red-haired woman—"is Helen Richards."

"But you can call me Nurse Richards," Helen Richards cut in.

Cody smiled at them, though he didn't know whether that was really an appropriate thing to do given the circumstances. "You can call me Cody," he said simply.

Jenny nodded, her smile growing bigger. She was pretty; she had dimples in her cheeks and her eyes were sea-storm blue. And she was relatively young. Cody figured, by the looks of her, that she couldn't have been any older than 26.

"Well Cody," Helen said, starting up the pathway, "welcome to Fairoaks Asylum."

_Gee, thanks_, thought Cody. But he didn't say anything.

He was more than capable of walking up to the front door by himself; nevertheless, Jenny held onto his arm. "You know, you don't have to hold onto me. I have perfectly good balance," he assured her.

"It's the rules," Jenny replied. "All patients have to be escorted in unless they're out-patients who sign themselves in."

_So I'm already a prisoner._

The front door to the building was locked and Helen stepped forward to stick a key that she had dangling from one of her uniform pockets into the lock to open it. When Cody stepped over the threshold into the front room—a lobby—he was hit with the smell of pumpkin-scented air freshener, which took him by surprise. He'd expected the place to smell like a doctor's office—a mixture of chemicals and latex. The walls were white with framed photos of past doctors hanging on them, some black and white and others (the later ones) in color. The carpet was tan and appeared to have been recently vacuumed. There were chairs lining each side of the room, forming a perfect square, and at the far end of the room was a desk where a lady in a mauve, tailored outfit was sitting, staring at a computer screen.

Jenny took Cody up to the lady. The lady smiled but her smile was tight, and strained. Her skin looked as though it had been stretched over the bones of her face. It was a bit unnerving. "Cody Martin?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"Yes," Jenny replied.

The lady—who's name, according to the gold-colored plaque at the edge of her desk, was Margaret O'Donnell—typed something on the computer and brought up a screen with rows of information that Cody couldn't read. "Right on time," she said. Then, from somewhere behind the desk, she produced a medical wrist bracelet with his name, his status as a patient, and the address of Fairoaks Asylum on it. "Give me your hand," she ordered him. He did and she swiftly wrapped the bracelet around his wrist. "Dr. Thompson will go ahead and see you now, in his office. You remember where that is, right Jenny?"

"Yes, thank you." Jenny took Cody by the arm and opened a door to the left of the desk, revealing a long hallway lighted by fluorescent lights (Cody had apparently developed somewhat of an aversion to them) and a tiled floor. She led him down that hallway until she reached a door with a plaque on it that read "DR. THOMPSON." She knocked on it.

"Come in," answered a deep voice from inside.

Cody was brought into a rather small office that, interestingly enough, had the same contents he often found in the offices of college professors back at Yale—a desk almost completely covered in stacks of papers, a filing cabinet, a book shelf containing mainly encyclopedias, and a single chair placed directly in front of the desk. Instinctively, Cody sat down in that chair. Nobody objected.

Dr. Thompson turned toward Jenny. "That'll be all, Miss Kroft," he told her.

Cody tensed when she walked out of the room, shutting him and the doctor inside together. He wanted her to stay. She had seemed nice…unlike Dr. Thompson who reminded Cody of a bulldog for some odd reason. He was heavy-set, and balding around the crown of his head, wearing a white, button-up shirt with cuffs at the ends of the sleeves and gray pants that were obviously a little too tight on him.

For a long moment, Dr. Thompson observed Cody silently, tapping a red pen on the surface of his desk, next to a steno notebook. Cody was unsettled by that. He suddenly got the urge to slide out of his chair and crouch on the floor.

"You're a young one," Dr. Thompson eventually spoke. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," Cody answered.

"I see." Dr. Thompson scribbled something in the notebook. "And you were in college. You were enrolled at Yale." It wasn't a question, but Cody nodded anyway. He figured this man already knew some things about him from Dr. Maps, who'd learned those same things from his family. "Did you like college?"

"Yeah, it was alright." Simple answers were probably better. At least for now. Cody didn't want to uncover too much about himself to this stranger, doctor or not.

"I heard from a reliable source that you were a fantastic student. You were making straight A's, involved in extracurricular activities, you had a positive attitude…by the way, what were you majoring in, just out of curiosity?"

"I was double majoring."

Dr. Thompson was genuinely stunned. "Wow, I bet that was tough."

"Yeah, I was going into law and business. I wanted to be a lawyer and own my own company. I wasn't sure on the specifics."

"Those are some pretty heavy goals, wouldn't you say, Mr. Martin? It takes a lot of time and effort to go into fields like those."

"Yeah, I know."

"I can imagine you were stressed out all the time."

Cody shrugged. "Not _all _the time."

"Hmm…" was all Dr. Thompson said in regards to that. He scribbled some more into the notebook before changing the subject. "You were also involved with someone, were you not? A girl."

Cody wasn't thrown off guard by this question, as he knew this topic was where the doctor was going to head for sooner or later. He knew enough about psychology to recognize word manipulations and subtle lead-ons. But even so, his whole body tensed. His muscles contracted, his stomach churned, his heart—now weakened—began beating too fast. He didn't want to say anything. He wanted to leave—to dart out of that office, down the hall, and never look back. But of course, he couldn't.

_Just answer_, he instructed himself. _Just play along. He already knows, so there's no sense in hiding anything. _

"Brianna," he said. The name left a bitter taste (was it only in his imagination?) on his tongue. "Brianna Marston."

"And the relationship ended badly, right?"

Cody swallowed hard. "Right."

"Uh-huh." Dr. Thompson paused for a moment to do more scribbling. He seemed to be deep in thought. "I can tell this is very painful for you. Bear in mind, I don't expect you to tell me everything on your first day here. This is simply a pre-admission meeting. We put patients through these mostly to observe them. I am fully aware that it may take a while for you to trust me enough to confide in me, and I am perfectly fine with that. My job is not to force help onto you, but to help you help yourself—to help you _want _to help yourself. That's my goal. If at any time, you want to stop, you can tell me and we'll stop."

Cody mulled over his words. They seemed honest, despite the fact that he was a professional twister of words and topics. Relaxing a little, he brought himself to say, "I don't want to talk about Brianna, if it's all the same to you."

Dr. Thompson nodded. "That's alright, we don't have to today."

Cody faltered, daring to be more straight-forward. "I mean, I don't want to talk about Brianna _ever_."

Dr. Thompson's expression became very perturbed. He took another moment to contemplate, and then said in a concerned tone, "You'll have to eventually. I understand needing some time to assort your feelings and gain faith in someone to share those feelings with, but you cannot simply ignore reality. It doesn't work that way. If you disregard your emotions instead of facing them, and act like nothing happened when something did, you're liable to end up with severe mental problems, like chronic depression. Believe me, I know. I've seen it."

"Maybe I have it already."

"I highly doubt _that_. People with chronic depression tend to be barely functional. They're so depressed that they are unaware of what is going on around them. Very often, their mobility is impaired. You still function, Cody. You're still alert, and able to move. But if you persist in hiding everything that's bothering you, you could become chronically depressed."

"I can shut it all out of me—the memories, I mean. If I force myself to, I bet I can shut it all out…like deleting a file from my brain."

"No, you can't. You can't forget, Cody. You don't forget things like this. Even if you put them in the back of your conscious mind, they will still linger in your subconscious one. They'll—"

"Can we be done now, please?" Cody interrupted.

Dr. Thompson was indignant over Cody's behavior. But he knew too well not to get his patients agitated. So he sat back and placed his red pen on top of his notepad. "Fine."

There was a telephone sitting on the left-hand corner of his desk. He grabbed the receiver, put it to the side of his face, and dialed an extension. "Dr. Thompson here," he said into it. "My session with Cody Martin is finished. If you could come and get him and take him to… yes…yes…yes…okay, okay, thank you very much." He hung up the phone.

"Take me to do what?" Cody wanted to know. "Who's taking me where?"

"A nurse will come in here momentarily and take you to your room. You'll be staying in Rosenberg Hall."

"Where's Rosenberg Hall?"

"It's a section positioned at the far right from the main building; it's where we keep people with depression, mood instability, and personality disorders. Since you're no danger to other people, you'll be with a roommate."

Cody thought it was peculiar how he said "roommate" instead of "cellmate" even though "cellmate" was much more accurate. After all, he would be in a locked room with a single window that'd be barred. _He's probably just sugar-coating it. If I'm going to be here for a while, there's no sense in making me panic. _

Cody wasn't panicking per se, but he was definitely nervous. "Dr. Thompson?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Will I ever be let out of my room? Like, at all?"

"Certainly," answered Dr. Thompson. "Six times a day to go to the restroom, three times a day for meals, and twice a day to either go outside or go to the entertainment room, and once for showers. Oh, and once a week—sometimes two, if you behave—you'll get to go on an outing. We have public transportation buses and we use them to get patients out of the building now and then."

_Well, at least it's not as bad as I thought it would be. _Cody's fear subsided a bit. But he was still uneasy.

Dr. Thompson seemed to know what he was thinking. "This is a good facility, I assure you, Mr. Martin. It's not home-sweet-home, or anything near it, but I give you my word that we have designed this place to the advantage of our patients—to maximize their quality of life. It'll take some adjustment, granted, but you will get used to it."

The door to the office opened and a nurse (not Jenny, or Helen) came in. She beckoned Cody out the door, and then led him farther down that same hallway.

The place was like a maze. They took a left here, then a right there, then another left here, and then they cut across a room with a television set and an assortment of chairs; then they took two lefts, one shortly after the other, and then came to an elevator. They went up two floors and then went down one last, really long hallway—this one had walls that were faintly blue—before finally arriving at their destination. Cody was relatively good with directions, but he had totally gotten lost with all the turns.

There was a large black sign overhead that said "ROSENBERG HALL" in gold print. Cody had expected to be intimidated, but all that went through his head was: _Finally_!

The nurse took Cody to a metal door with huge latches and a rectangular window that had the number 312 on the wall next to it. She unlocked it, opened it, and then stuck her head inside. "Your roommate's here, Mr. Tanner," she said to the interior of the room. "His name's Cody. Be nice to him. And remember, he just recently had surgery so he should really take it easy. Okay?"

"Well don't just stand there!" retorted a young man. "Bring him in!"

The nurse looked at Cody semi-apologetically. "You'll have to excuse him. He can get obnoxious and irritable at times. He's a good guy, though. He wouldn't harm you."

Diligently, Cody stepped inside. The room was about the size of his dorm room back at Yale, if not a little bigger. The walls were white and made of brick (he'd almost expected them to be padded). There was a barred window in the back, giving him a nice view of some trees, and there were two beds situated on opposite walls; one was made, the other—on which a young man of about Cody's own age was casually laying down—was not.

When the young man saw Cody enter, he stood up to shake his hand. He was taller than Cody, and gangly, with curly black hair and hazel eyes that looked Cody over from head to toe. He was dressed in a white, pajama-like outfit that—even though it was already a small—hung on his body loosely. "Nice to meet you, dude," he said. "I'm George Tanner."

Cody took George's hand and allowed him to shake it.

From behind him, the metal door closed and latched.


	5. Chapter 5

**I had a lot of fun with this chapter. George was a fun character to write. I actually can't wait to write more of him. He's going to have some influence over Cody, but not as much as Zack will. **

**I didn't do as much research for this chapter as I did for previous ones, though I did do a little. The rest of this story is mainly going to focus on the concept of sanity versus insanity and how society draws a line between them. It's going to concentrate on whether Cody is crazy, or whether he's just hurt and irrational. I think I should mention, I'm a psychology major in college and that's probably going to show through with this story. **

**Enjoy! (And feel free to review!) **

**Disclaimer: Again, I do not own **_**The Suite Life**_** series **

It took Cody a while to get comfortable around George Tanner. He was wary of him from the moment he became his only source of company. As soon as the door was closed and they were left alone together, Cody became a bit anxious. How was he supposed to feel around someone who had been labeled crazy? Who'd been in a psychiatric hospital for God knows how long?

_Don't judge_, Cody told himself cautiously. _You're in here too._

Cody did his best at trying to smile. "So…how long have you been in this place?" He hoped that question wasn't too personal. The last thing he needed on his first day there was to get his roommate riled up.

Luckily, George wasn't fazed in the least. "I'm going on three years," he replied.

"That's kind of a long time," Cody mused.

"Around here it ain't. There are people locked in this place who've been here nearly all their lives; and there are people who'll never leave."

Cody grimaced at that thought. "That's awful."

"This place ain't too bad once you get used to it," George said. "It kinda grows on you. And for some of us, this place is a godsend."

Cody couldn't imagine how that could be. "A _godsend_?"

"Yeah, for some people this place is a lot better than where they came from…or where they could have ended up. Like, for instance, there's this one kid—I could introduce you to him at lunch time—who used to live on the streets and starve before coming here. He's got OCD, and his parents abandoned him after they found out."

"Oh my God," Cody said in disgust. "How could they do that?"

George shrugged. "I dunno. I guess they just didn't want a mentally ill kid."

Cody shook his head, still in disbelief.

"There are some people who have worse stories than that," George added. "There's another kid I had the misfortune of running into about a year or so back who was a sociopath, and he was put in here for shooting up his high school."

Cody's eyes widened with shock. "Did he kill anyone?"

George nodded. "Two people. And he wounded, like, five more. Needless to say, that kid loves it here. He loves that people found out he was insane."

"Why?" Cody wondered.

George gave him a "duh" kind of look. "It got him out of a prison sentence."

There was a moment's pause as Cody considered all of what George had told him.

"Man," George continued, "I've been here almost three years. Let me tell you, I've heard some of the saddest fuckin' tales in the world. I've heard it all—everything from lost loved ones, to abuse, to disorders, to breakdowns, to scrambled brain waves caused by blows to the head…anything you could think of."

"How can you stand it?" Cody asked.

"It's pretty easy. I just turn off my emotions."

Cody pondered over that. He'd heard stories about people becoming emotionally numb after going through a traumatic event, or a series of traumatic events, but he'd never really believed it. How could you turn off your emotions? Emotions made you human, didn't they? "Is that even possible?"

"Sure, but it takes practice. In a place like this, you don't want to care so much."

There was another moment's pause between them and George could tell by Cody's expression that he was thinking deeply about this. "Are you emo?" he wondered aloud.

That caught Cody off guard. "What?"

"You know, emo. Are you emo? It's fine if you are but, personally, I find them kind of annoying…not to be judgmental or anything."

"Um…no, I'm not…I don't think. It depends on your definition of 'emo' though. Why'd you ask?"

"You seem like the kind of guy who can't understand his emotions. Like you can't sort them out."

_If that's your definition of emo, then I SO am_, Cody thought.

George took a seat on his bed and leaned his back up against the wall. "So, for the sake of getting to know one another," he said, "where are you from?"

Cody sat at the edge of his own bed. "Boston," he replied.

"Ah, so you're a hometown boy."

"Recently, though, I was in New Haven, Connecticut. I just came back the week before last."

"What were you doing there, of all places?"

"I was going to college at Yale."

"What were you studying?"

"Business and law."

George chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"No, what is it?"

"It's just…" George took a breath. "In figures I would get a roommate who would be into those two things, when I'm completely against them…you know? I'm not a fan of business, or the law. But then again, the law loves me cause I _give _it business."

Cody had to smile at that. "Why do I get the feeling that you're an ex-criminal?"

George smiled too, but his smile looked somewhat faked. "I'm not the one who's the criminal," he said. "They are."

"What do you mean 'they'?"

"Authority. _They're_ the criminals."

Cody decided not to go any further into that…mostly because he could see a possible argument arising, and that was definitely not something he wanted. Instead, he asked "Why are you in here, George?"

George flashed him a sudden maniacal, demented look. "I'm a gay sex addict," he said quickly.

Cody backed away, horrified. "WHAT?"

George grinned mischievously. "I'm just kidding," he said. "I like to tell my roommates that though…to scare them."

Cody relaxed. "You've had other roommates?"

"Yeah, several."

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to them?"

"Various things—some had to be moved to other sections of the hospital, some were released. I told that same joke to every single one of them, and they all had the same reaction as you"—George's face abruptly became serious—"Well, except for one. Turns out this guy really was gay, and he thought I was kinda hot. Then _I _had the same reaction as you. I mean, not that I'm homophobic or anything but, being in a small room, with the door locked…it's kind of a terrifying thought."

Cody breathed. "You're telling me. God, I almost had a heart attack. And that'd _really _be bad news for me."

"Oh yeah, I heard you had surgery. Mind if I ask what happened?"

Cody wasn't sure if he should tell George about what he'd done to land himself in there, but he figured that George seemed like a nice, jovial guy. Plus, since George had been honest with him, it only made sense to be honest back. "I shot myself," Cody admitted, "in the chest."

"Damn!" George exclaimed. "I think you _are _emo. So, why'd you do it? Why'd you feel the need to take yourself off the face of the earth?" Interestingly enough, he didn't seem to be disturbed by it so much as simply inquisitive.

"Well, there was this…girl."

"Oh," George interrupted, "_that's _why. That's so cliché, dude. I was hoping for a better reason this time."

"This time?" Cody asked, confused.

"Like I said before, I've heard every story you could think of."

Cody was a little surprised by George's reaction. He wasn't expecting him to show any pity (especially since he said he was accustomed to turning off his emotions), but he wasn't expecting him to be completely nonchalant about it either. So far, everyone who knew about Cody's attempted suicide had shown some kind of feeling. "And what about you?" he inquired. "What's your story?"

"To cover the basics, bipolar disorder—that's my story."

"You're bipolar?"

"Yep. Have been since I was a teenager, maybe even longer. I'm twenty-three now, by the way."

"You don't act like a bipolar person," Cody observed. "Aren't they supposed to be, like, either extremely happy or totally depressed?"

"Not all the time. That's the cliff notes version of it, but in reality, bipolar disorder is a lot more complex than that. People who are bipolar generally go through two stages—mania and depression, and they tend to alternate between the two at various times. But it doesn't have to be like that. There are some people who experience mania and depression at the same time. And there are others—probably more so than not—who go through periods of being perfectly normal. It all depends. I'm one of the rare types. That's why I don't fall under the common description of bipolar people." George smiled again. "That, and I take a shitload of Depakote. That's the drug these lunatic doctors have me on."

"Does it help?"

"Yeah, but it takes time. It took a while for my body to get used to it. The first day I took it, I spent _hours_ puking my guts out."

"Ew."

"Yeah, the nurses had to waive the whole six-times-a-day restroom breaks with me; otherwise they would have been constantly cleaning up puke from this room."

Instantly, Cody felt the urge to ask a question that had been bothering him for a while. "George, do all patients get put on drugs?" He'd wondered about that several times, but had never worked up the courage to ask someone…mainly because he feared the answer.

"Not _all _of the patients," George said, "but most of them."

Cody felt a sudden queasiness build up in him and George noticed it. "It's not so bad," he assured him. "Drugs make you happy. Or, at least, pleasantly comfortable. I mean, take me for example, I'd be a lot worse without my Depakote."

_But I'm not like you, George. I'm not bipolar. And I'm not sure I want to resort to synthetic feelings. _

"But…what if I were to tell my doctor that I didn't want any drugs? Would I still have to take them?"

"Afraid so, man. It's doctor's orders. They get to decide."

"But _why_?" Cody asked indignantly. "Why do _they_ just get to decide what to put in my body? Why don't I have a say? It's my body, isn't it?"

George shrugged. "Because they're the ones with the college degrees. They have control over your body now cause they think you can't take care of it yourself. If they call for drugs, you better believe you're going to get drugs."

"So they own me." Cody felt despair creep its way up his spine as those words escaped his mouth.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," George replied.

They both became silent after that.

…………

The Tipton hotel looked different from the last time Zack had seen it. The furniture was rearranged a bit, and the front desk was moved closer to the door. Zack and his parents decided to stay there for a while, until they could sort things out (whenever that would be.) They talked it over right after Cody left to go to the asylum and they all agreed that they should remain together for the time being and try to be a comfort to one another.

And they chose to do so at the Tipton.

It wasn't so much sentimentality as it was convenience. Kurt (who was a still musician) had been on tour when he found out about Cody; the closest thing to a home he had was the van he traveled in, which wasn't exactly a warm and comforting environment. And Zack couldn't so much as fathom going back to his house. The reason why went without saying. The Tipton was their best bet. The hotel manager, Mr. Moseby, was fine with it. After all, Zack's mom Carey was one of his employees.

But it hurt to be in that place. As soon as Zack arrived after work and walked into the lobby, he was overwhelmed by a string of memories –memories of him and Cody running around, planning schemes, annoying guests, and getting into trouble—that seemed to jump into his head like phantoms and taunt him…make him wish, for once, that he could go back in time rather than have to move forward and reverse things that he could never reverse.

Zack wiped tears out of his eyes. He swallowed an up-coming sob that was lodged in his throat. _Breathe, just breathe…in and out, in and out, in and out…don't remember, don't remember…pretend you're someone else if you have to, but don't remember. _

"Zack!"

Zack heard the familiar voice come from behind him. He turned around quickly and saw the ever-so-recognizable face. "Hello, Mr. Moseby."

Mr. Moseby had changed. He was still short (shorter than Zack now), but the years were really beginning to show on him. He'd known Zack and Cody for years—ever since they came to the Tipton when they were children. He even chaperoned them when they went to "Seven Seas High." He'd never gotten along with them, however. Very often, they drove him nearly to the brink of insanity.

It felt rather odd when Mr. Moseby wrapped his arms around Zack and pulled him into an embrace. But Zack understood his actions. Carey had no doubt told her boss about Cody. And though Mr. Moseby had often referred to the boys as "hooligans," he couldn't deny the fact that he had a soft spot for them. He always had, and he always would. "Oh, Zack, I am _so _sorry about what happened to Cody!" He choked. "I could never, in all my life, have expected something as horrible as this to happen! I can't even _begin _to comprehend how he could do this! Not ever!"

"Please," Zack begged. "Please, Mr. Moseby…don't."

"I'm sorry, Zack," Mr. Moseby apologized. "It's not my place to say anything. Just know that I'm here if you ever want to talk. You're welcome to any empty room in the entire hotel, without charge."

Zack managed to form the slightest of smiles. "Is London's room…?"

Mr. Moseby smiled back. "She's shopping in Paris for two weeks. Help yourself."

London Tipton, the hotel heiress, had the best suite in the building. Zack and Cody used to sneak in to watch her big, flat-screen TV and to use her luxurious bathroom. She also had very plush, comfortable furniture, and the best view outside from her window. The room would give Zack memories, but the only other room he could think of to go to was room 2330, the room in which he and Cody had practically been raised, and that would just be too painful.

"Thanks, Mr. Moseby."

"It's no problem." Mr. Moseby turned to go back to the front desk. "I'll inform your parents that you're here."

…………

Zack sat alone on the lavish couch in London's suite with his legs curled under him and a laptop on his thighs. He was sending an email to Cody's ex-girlfriend, Bailey, in Kansas. He'd debated whether or not to do it and finally decided, why not? She may have been his ex, but she still cared about him. Zack knew she did. She had to. They had been so happy together when they dated at "Seven Seas High." She was a smart, dependable girlfriend—one that Zack respected and considered a good friend. He figured she deserved to know the truth.

She already knew about Brianna—Cody had emailed her about his relationship with her—but she had no idea about the last week and a half. Zack wasn't one hundred percent sure how she would react. She would be devastated for sure, but…what else? There was nothing she could really do. Kansas was a ways away.

Zack looked over his email. It was a lot simpler than it could have been, but he didn't feel like revising it. With all the strain that was already tugging at his heart and mind, he just wasn't up to typing a long sob story. So he covered the basics:

_Hey Bailey,_

_How've you been? How's the farm? I hope your crops are doing well this year. I hope you've been happy up to this point._

_Look, Bailey, I can't sugarcoat this. And even if I could, I wouldn't…because you need to know. Cody did something really stupid. His girlfriend Brianna broke up with him a while ago. But before she left, she told him that she'd been cheating with another guy. Cody was really broken up over it. I'd told him not to date her in the first place, but of course, he never listened to me (you and I both know how he can be). Anyway, he came back to Boston and talked to me about it. He even apologized to me._

_But that wasn't the main reason he came back. Bailey, I never once thought he would do something this selfish, but the day after he came back, he shot himself. He did it while I was at work. He found the .45 I kept in my bureau and he shot himself in the chest. He's still alive, thankfully. He had to have surgery, but he pulled through. It was a close call though. He flat lined at the hospital… and aside from that, the only reason I managed to call an ambulance was because I'd forgotten some papers for my job and had to go back to get them. I almost lost him. We almost lost him. I'm so shaken up about it. We all are over here. _

_He's in a mental institution now, called Fairoaks Asylum. He was forced to go there. Hopefully he can get help. Hopefully those doctors over there can get him to love life again. I really want to go see him (even though I'm still mad at him), but visiting hours are not for a few days. _

_I promise to keep you updated as best as I can. I'm so sorry to be dropping this bomb shell on you._

_Love, _

_Zack_

He could have given her far more detail than that. He could have told her about how it hurt him to so much as breathe because he felt like his ribcage was cracking along the center and the tissue inside was pulling apart; and how he suddenly felt so detached from the world and didn't notice little things anymore; and how, though he was never known to be sentimental, he felt the urge to cry at anything that reminded him of his and Cody's childhood; and how he was constantly in a state of paranoia—sometimes subdued, sometimes not—about Cody not being guarded enough and trying to kill himself again. He could have told her all of this, and more.

He could have mentioned that he wasn't the same person now as he was merely a week and a half ago, and he highly doubted he ever would be again. The old Zack was buried under a pile of confusion, fear, and disappointment, and it would take a great deal of strength (which he didn't have right now) to dig him back up.

Even if he was dug up, this new Zack would still exist.

Cody's impulsive choice had split his twin brother into two different people.


	6. Chapter 6

**I apologize for the late update. I've been dealing with a bunch of issues lately—most of them technology related. Recently I had a virus on my computer and had a heck of a time cleaning out the system; then I had to turn my computer off because it was overheating. And also, where I live we had a snow storm and our power was going off and on repeatedly. It's just been one problem after another. But, anyway, here's chapter 6. **

**This chapter is mainly focused on George, but that's because he's going to have some influence over Cody later. The story itself is still mostly about Zack and Cody. I listened to the songs "Love, Save the Empty" by Erin McCauley and "Send the Pain Below" by Chevelle for this chapter and they helped me write out George's story. George doesn't really go beyond the basics, though. He's the type of guy who likes to just give people the gist of things.**

**Disclaimer: As before, I do not own **_**The Suite Life **_**series **

If Cody could have described George using any one word in the English language, he would have used the word "rebel." George was many things—bipolar, indifferent, straightforward, young, imprisoned…and in many ways, lost. He was complex, among other things. But Cody thought the best way to describe him would be to say that he was a rebel. A more sophisticated term (and Cody knew full well about sophistication) would probably be "revolutionary." Cody thought of him as a silent revolutionary who—if freed from the inside of the asylum—would go around stirring things up by spreading graffiti on building walls and setting off guns in public places. He wouldn't kill anyone, Cody didn't think. But he'd sure as hell shake people up.

He didn't have a cause. He wasn't the kind of person who had hardcore beliefs; in fact, he struck Cody as someone who didn't even think about what he believed in. He would do it for the thrill rather than for the sake of making a statement. He would have been one of those people who were considered troublemakers by authority…which reinforced Cody's assumption that he was an ex-criminal.

To keep from getting extremely bored during their lockup time, Cody and George sat on their beds and talked. They talked for hours, carrying on whole conversations about the most random things. Cody learned more about Fairoaks Asylum—that it was an even bigger maze than he'd previously thought. It contained six separate buildings, each for different types of illnesses, which were all linked together by bridged hallways. Every building, which was referred to as a hall, had two different wings—one for males and one for females—as well as its own cafeteria, entertainment room, restrooms, visiting room, and set of staff members. The males and females could be together in some of the rooms (like the cafeteria and the visiting room); but, other than that, they were kept apart. All of the halls were joined together in the center, at the main building, where the lobby was. In a way, it was like living in a gigantic condo.

Cody also learned that, within the next day or two, he would be taken to get his "patient attire." That's what George called the plain, white, pajama-like outfit he was wearing. He would have three different pairs of them, all identical. And he would be required to wear them all day, everyday, so long as he was a patient there. Cody did not like this idea at all. First, they took his freedom; now they were taking his individuality? "That's bullshit," he huffed. "That's complete bullshit! I can't wear white every single day. I'll get so tired of it that I'll puke."

George just shrugged (he did that a lot), and said "Sorry, man. I hate it too."

They talked about interests and talents, and they told jokes. They talked about girls and relationships (Cody only mentioned Barbara and Bailey) and what they thought life would be like when—or if—they were ever released from Fairoaks. George thought for sure he never would be released. He swore up and down that he would remain behind those asylum walls until he died. "I'm telling you, man," he said, "they ain't ever gonna let me outta this place. I'm a lifer. I've been here three fuckin' years and there hasn't been one sign that they'd ever let me out."

"Well, have there been any patients who've been here longer than three years and got out?" Cody tried to be positive. Though George was an indifferent guy for the most part, he had an overall negative point of view. He seemed to assume the worst about everything.

"Sure," George admitted, "but I ain't one of them."

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"Because…" George stopped and gave it some thought for a moment. "Because I don't have any secrets."

Cody was puzzled. "Secrets?"

"Yeah. See, everyone here—or most everyone here—has secrets. They have something to hide. These doctors try to get you to reveal those secrets. They wanna know what makes you tick. They keep prodding you, and prodding you…and they twist what you say. They manipulate your words to get you to slip up somewhere and tell them something."

Cody understood this. He'd seen it with Dr. Thompson.

"But the thing is—the more you tell, the more they think of releasing you. Cause they think they're helping you; they think they're making you better. Reveal your big, dark secret and you get your freedom back. You see, that's bad for someone who doesn't have any secrets. They keep assuming that you do but you just don't want to let them out…when, really, you don't have any at all."

George paused again. Cody considered this. He'd never thought of it this way—he'd never really thought of what he would need to give in order to go back into the real world again; but on some strange level, it made sense.

"It's like the Salem fuckin' Witch Trials," George continued (much to Cody's astonishment at that comparison). "Whether you're guilty or innocent doesn't matter; whether you're lying or telling the truth makes no difference. They're always going to _think_ you're lying unless you confess to being guilty. You confess, they free you. You speak the truth, they hang you. So long as I don't make some sort of confession, they're going to keep me here till I rot."

_You know something George, you may have a point. The common human mind associates people like you and me as liars. We're guilty until proven innocent, so to speak. But you should realize…we _all_ have secrets._ _We all have something to confess._

Cody didn't want to go any further into that. He knew he had secrets, and he knew that he didn't want to reveal them…least of all to some doctor he hardly knew and did not particularly like. But at the same time, he wanted to get out of the asylum. He wanted his freedom once again. And if it came right down to it, he wasn't sure which one he would sacrifice.

He decided it best to change the subject altogether. "So where are you from, George?" he questioned.

George didn't appear to be thrown off guard. He was probably very used to changing subjects. "Originally, New York City."

"What made you come to Boston?"

"Long story."

"We've got plenty of time."

The corner of George's mouth turned upward into a crooked smile. "Why don't I tell you the whole thing, then? How about that?"

Cody shrugged. "If you feel up to it, go for it."

George took a moment to breathe and glance out the barred window at the tree leaves which, on that day, were blowing in a moderate breeze. "My mom was sixteen years old when she gave birth to me," he began, "and my father skipped town once he found out about my existence."

Cody gazed at George sympathetically. "It was fuckin' good riddance too," George added quickly. "My mom told me he had a bad rep. He was a drunk."

"So how did your mom feel?" Cody asked.

"Scared," George replied. "And probably like an idiot. She came from a strict, Christian family; her father had been a preacher and her mother had been a housewife. When they found out she was pregnant, they kicked her out of their house…without even letting her pack her stuff. They just shut the door in her face and told her not to come back. She sat on their front porch crying for over an hour, before leaving the damn place."

"Shit," Cody remarked under his breath. "She told you that?"

George nodded. "She'd wanted an abortion. Can't say I blame her. Who wants to have a kid at sixteen? But she didn't have the money to get one. So she tried adoption. She talked to a friend of hers who was able to contact an adoption agency, and they set her up with an appointment to meet this family who wanted a child but couldn't have one of their own. She talked to them, thought they were nice…decided she wanted them to raise me. But about two months after making that decision, she changed her mind. She decided she wanted me after all. Stupid choice. She could've had her life back…and gave me one too."

"She raised you then?"

"More or less. She didn't get to finish high school so she started hooking to put food on the table. It worked most of the time. I sure as hell didn't starve to death. But it got kind of annoying when she'd bring home these strange men—some of them old enough to be her father—and fuck them right in front of me. See, eventually she was able to pay for a one-bedroom apartment. She and I kind of shared the bed cause the couch was not comfortable to sleep on, and she would take the guys back there and fuck 'em. I would watch sometimes and she wouldn't care. She hardly noticed."

George paused and formed an un-called for smirk. "I never needed to have 'the talk,'" he stated.

_But damn it, George, you SHOULD have. You were just a kid. You shouldn't have been seeing that. You should have found out about sex the way most kids do._

"Obviously," Cody said to him. What else could he say? He didn't want to offend George. George was acting perfectly natural about all this.

"I don't think she was all there, you know? She had constant mood swings. She'd be mommy of the year one day and then a total bitch the next. It could really give a kid whiplash. I think I got my bipolar disorder from her. I think _she _was bipolar. She never got diagnosed or anything, but there's really no other way to explain it. She would go off on these random rampages and destroy all kinds o' shit. Most of the time it was over ridiculous things—broken dishes, power outages, vomit on the carpet…stuff like that. But it was always my fault. She'd start screaming and banging dents into the walls, and calling me a little motherfucker."

"Did she hit you?" Cody wanted to know.

"What?" George asked. For once, he was caught off guard.

"Did she hit you?"

"Yeah, sometimes," George said casually. "I remember having a busted lip now and then, a nose bleed, a couple o' black eyes. Man, they don't look anything like what you see in movies. She threw me down the stairs once and I got a concussion. Oh my God, that sucker hurt like shit! It took fuckin' forever to heal." George took in another breath. "So…yeah, my life was like that for a while. It was pretty much routine. We lived in that apartment until I was about seven. Then we moved. My mom brought home this guy who was a truck driver one night and…well…he was nicer than some of the others. My mom liked him a lot. He wanted her to stop hooking and start being responsible…which didn't make a lot of sense given the fact that she met him _by_ hooking, but whatever. He made her feel special, you know? He made her feel good about herself. And she clung to that, man. That was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of deal so she clung to him like a suction cup. They started dating and he wanted her to come with him when he made his next stop, which was in Boston. She was all into him, so she didn't even think twice before saying yes—young people are like that, and she'd never really grown up. Not mentally, anyway."

Suddenly, the latches on the metal door came undone and the door was pulled open. Jenny Kroft entered the room and beamed at both Cody and George simultaneously. "Hey, guys!" she said. In one hand she was holding a small, transparent cup with a tablet lying inside, and a cub filled with water in the other. "It's time for your Depakote, George."

"Joy!" George said sardonically.

Jenny handed him the cup with the tablet. George took the tablet out and slipped it in his mouth. Then he handed the empty cup back to her in exchange for the one with water. He downed the water in one gulp and gave that cup back to her as well. "Okay," Jenny told him. "You're done for a while. I'll be coming back in about an hour to take you two to the restroom."

Jenny turned and walked back to the door. Before closing it behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and gave Cody a concerned look. "How're you doing?" she asked.

Cody shrugged. "Better than I thought I would be, I guess." What was he supposed to say?

"Well, that's good…I guess."

Jenny left and the door latched behind her.

Cody turned his attention back to George. "So, what happened then?"

"We left," George told him. "We moved to Boston. The guy broke up with her there, and she was devastated about it. He was the second man to take off on her…and just like the first, he'd gotten her pregnant. Figures, right? Well, at first she let the depression have her. She would lie around and not do anything. But then later, she got pissed. _Really _pissed. She started wrecking stuff like crazy. She'd beat on anything and everything she couldn't stand the sight of…including me. That was the worst I had ever seen her. Luckily, it didn't last very long. She finally decided to send me to school. There was an elementary school about a block or two from where we lived and she told me one day that I'd be going there."

"How old were you?" Cody inquired.

"I was about…eight and a half? Nine, maybe?"

Cody was astonished. "And you were just then starting school?"

"Yep. I know, it's weird. Most kids start when they're about five. But…what can I say? My life was pretty weird."

_I'd say totally fucked up describes it better, George._

"I'll never forget the principal's face when he found out how old I was and that I'd never been inside a school before. It was priceless."

"I bet," Cody interrupted. "Was your mom investigated?"

"No, why would she be?"

Cody flashed George a baffled expression. "Gee, I don't know, George. A kid who's about nine years old and has zero years of education—hmm, what could be off about that?"

"Well, no one investigated my mom," George said matter-of-factly.

"They _should _have," Cody remarked under his breath.

George continued. "So, I started school. It was kind of embarrassing cause I was so far behind. All my classmates were much younger than me. They weren't into the same things I was. And they didn't seem to…_know_ anything. They knew how to read, and write, and do basic math, but other than that, they knew absolutely nothing about the world. They were all so ignorant. And happy. They never thought of the future; to them, the future would take care of itself. For a while, I kind of envied them that. I envied how simple their minds were. You know that saying ignorance is bliss?"

Cody nodded.

"Well, let me tell you now, that's _so_ true. The more you know, the more miserable you are. I found that out at school. If I learned anything there, that was it." George scrunched his eyebrows, which was the first real sign of emotion he showed since Cody had met him. _Nobody can hide their emotions completely. They wouldn't be human. _"And it pissed me off. I didn't want my knowledge anymore. I wanted it to go away. But, of course, I knew it wouldn't. You just can't _unlearn _something. I mean, sure, you can forget; but it wasn't possible to forget the things I wanted to forget. Jesus, I felt like I was condemned or something."

Cody looked down at the floor, thinking about that. He had never believed that ignorance was bliss. That was always Zack's motto. Cody had believed in obtaining as much information as he possibly could. In fact, people used to tell him it was scary how much he knew. They would get annoyed by him and all his knowledge. Zack used to drive him nuts about it; he used to call him either a "nerd" or a "dork" on a daily basis. Cody knew things that the common person would never even think to ask about. And that had given him an inner sense of peace. He viewed knowledge as his strength—as his one and _only _strength. As far as he was concerned, knowledge and bliss were synonymous. How could an ignorant person be happy? He used to act so condescending to Zack about how little Zack cared to learn—how little he wanted to improve. How insensitive he was.

_And yet, _Cody thought angrily to himself, _he's not the one in here. I am. _

"School went as well as could be expected," George sighed. "I had to be put in special classes to help me catch up to speed with all I'd missed, which was a shitload of stuff. I didn't learn how to read until I was, like, twelve years old. I'm still slow at it to this day, and I'm twenty-three. I managed to go to high school just two years later than I normally would have. For most people, those years are the worst years of their lives; for me, they were a blessing. Mostly because I was away from home most of the day—away from my mom."

Cody thought about his high school years. They certainly had not been a blessing; he'd been teased relentlessly. But, at the same time, they weren't the worst years of his life. The worst years didn't come until later…when _she_ came into the picture. Cody's chest constricted. _Don't think about that. Shut it out. Shut it out like an old file. Delete it._

_But you'll have to bring it up sometime. Otherwise, according to George, you'll never get out of here. You'll have to put on a good face and own up, if only for the sake of your freedom. _

_I'll do that when the time comes. But right now, I'm going to shove it away. Send it all below the surface, at least._

"Speaking of your mom, did she have the baby?" Cody decided to ask that instead of the real question that was haunting him.

"Oh yeah," George replied. "I have a little sister named Sherrie."

"Where is she? Do you know?"

"With my mom, somewhere. I never see her. I haven't seen her in nearly three years."

Again, Cody gave George a look of sympathy. _Imagine not seeing Zack for that long_. "Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes. But I try not to think about it. I turn off my emotions, remember? That's one thing you _have _to do while you're in here."

_Try to be positive, Cody. Try to be positive around George. _"I bet she misses you too."

George looked doubtful. "I don't think so," he said. "Why would she? She knows I'm in here. She knows I'm crazy."

Cody found himself thinking about Zack. _Does he miss me_?


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey all! Here is chapter 7. Like the last chapter, this one is quite a bit about George, and there are some other people in it as well. I like characters, in case you couldn't tell. :)**

**The added characters in this chapter aren't particularly important, so you don't have to worry about remembering them all. They're basically to give you guys a glimpse of some of the other patients at Fairoaks, since George is the only one you know so far.**

**Sorry this chapter is so long. I promise, the next one will have Zack in it. You all are probably missing him as much as Cody is. **

**Disclaimer: I still do not own **_**The Suite Life **_**series.**

It took a long time for George to tell Cody his story. Even after he was finished, he kept going back and giving more details. "Oh, and this one time, my mom started doing cocaine," he'd added at one point. "She came across it through this guy she slept with a few times. They'd go into the bedroom and snort that shit up like there was no tomorrow. It was so irritating cause she'd waste all her money on it and we'd barely be able to make rent." Then later, he said, "And there was this other time when I had a friend over—my mom okayed it, amazingly. This friend was a girl and she brought over this little kiddy tea set with her. She was younger than me, see, so she was still into playing with stuff like that. I was just grateful to finally have a friend over, so I was like, 'What the hell? It won't hurt to play tea party with her. It sure beats sittin' around with my mom and crying baby sister.' So, I played tea party with her. It was fun…while it lasted, that is. My mom came in and saw us. I don't know what she had against it—if she was high, or in one of her bitchy moods, or what. But whatever it was, she went ballistic. She made my friend go home. Then she took me aside and told me that if I wanted to act like a little girl she'd treat me like a little girl. She made me wear dresses to school for a week."

"Jesus, George," Cody said, almost pleadingly. He'd had about as much of George's story as he could take by that point. "What did the school staff do?"

"Nothin'," George told him.

"They didn't do _anything_?" Cody was shocked. "They had to have noticed you were wearing dresses. Didn't that set off a siren in their dumb-ass brains?"

George shrugged, for what must have been the tenth time. "They probably just thought I'd turned gay or something. Or that I was going through a phase."

Cody shook his head, unable—or unwilling, more like—to believe it.

George had taken his story all the way up to being locked in Fairoaks. Come to find out, he _was_ an ex-criminal. When George was a teenager, he began to have these episodes of aggression. He never really hurt anyone, but he started mouthing off to his teachers and to random students, and vandalizing school property—he told Cody about a little prank he played when he was a junior in high school, where he clogged all the sinks in the boys' restroom with toilet paper and then turned them on, causing a massive overflow. But his problems weren't just contained within the school, however. He joined up with some boys who, after and before school hours, were a gang. All the students knew they were a gang. The teachers probably did too, though nobody mentioned it. They weren't particularly dangerous; they just thought it was cool to go around hot-wiring cars that didn't belong to them and to steal alcohol they couldn't legally drink from the local ABC store. Their motto was simple: Authority is the enemy. Therefore, do whatever you can to defy it.

"It made sense to me," George declared. "What they stood for. It didn't make sense to a lot of people—they were considered lost and hopeless by pretty much everyone. But it all made sense to me. I knew how bad it could be when some authoritative figure ground you down; I lived in a world where I endured that constantly. And I wanted out. I wanted to fight back, in my own way. On my own terms."

_So you were a rebel, George. You were fed up with the hurting, so you wanted to make the world hurt._

That was why, if Cody could have chosen one word to describe George Tanner, "rebel" would be it. Even now, being locked up, George was a rebel. He said he didn't have secrets, but Cody knew he did. Everybody did. George simply refused to bring them to light. He wouldn't give them power, even though the doctors—the authority in this place—wanted him to. He would pretend his secrets didn't exist, despite the consequences being a lifetime in confinement.

"I got arrested a few times." George ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "I was in and out of juvie constantly when I was sixteen and seventeen. Then the day after I turned eighteen, I got into a fight outside a bar. It was a bad one; I got knocked unconscious when the other guy hit me upside the head with a metal pipe. I have no idea how he even managed to find a metal pipe in all the chaos, but anyway, when I woke up I found myself in an _adult_ jail cell—which was different from juvie. I was kept in there for about two weeks, before they let me go. When I got back I left the gang. I just didn't want anything to do with them anymore. I still believed in a lot of their philosophies, but…it was different. _I _was different. My world got put into perspective for me and…I just…I didn't like it. And I knew that if I confided in my mom she wouldn't do jack shit about it. She'd never done jack shit for me anyhow."

"So what did you do?" Cody wanted to know.

_Let me guess, you came here._

"I took myself to a counseling service in Boston and talked to a psychologist. She tried everything she could think of to help me. Tests, therapies…she even had me write journals—pfft, _that_ proved to be a waste of time. For one thing, I couldn't write properly to save my life, and for another, my thoughts were just too goddamn jumbled. In the end, she gave up and referred me to good ol' Fairoaks Asylum. And I came here. I've been here ever since."

Just then, Jenny Kroft came back in (for the third time that day) and announced that it was lunch time.

…

The cafeteria in Rosenberg Hall was about the size of a gymnasium—only a little bigger. There were rows upon rows of long tables with white surfaces situated on a polished, marble floor. The walls were all white, with seven barred windows going along each side; outside was a perfect view of a hillside dipping down into a roadway, aligned with trees at the far end.

Cody thought it resembled a prison. Not that he'd ever been to prison before. But the bars alone were enough to put disturbing images in his head of chain fences, barred cells, and sinister guards. Immediately, he lost his appetite.

At the far end of the room was the table where the food was distributed to the patients. It was the very first thing you saw—the thing that was right before your eyes—when you walked through the double doors of the cafeteria. There was a glass panel separating the cafeteria from the kitchen, and two doors—one on the left-hand side of the room and one on the right-hand side of the room—leading into it. From each door was a long line of patients, all wearing white-pajama outfits and bearing medical bracelets on their wrists. All waiting to eat.

There was an array of differences between them. Some of them were standing erect; others were slumped over. Some were alert and focused (perhaps a bit paranoid); others were staring off into space, seeming to be in their own little worlds. Some were young adults; others were turning gray. Some were completely silent; and others were engaged in conversation—either with existing people or with themselves.

There were both males and females present. George had said that the cafeteria was one place where they could be together. "The people in charge figured it wouldn't be fair to make either the men or the women eat later," he'd told Cody, "especially since some of these people eat slow, and some of them have to be fed by staff."

It made sense. If they had males and females eat at different times, it would probably be well over an hour before whoever ate second got to eat. And many of those people, given that they were residents of Rosenberg Hall—the building for patients with mood and personality disorders—would be hard to deal with if deprived of food.

There were several nurses there also, all roaming around and checking on various patients. Making sure they ate.

Cody was standing at the back of the line, sandwiched between George and a short, dark-skinned girl with long, black hair who looked to be of Puerto Rican descent and who was talking to another girl in front of her in a half-Spanish, half-English dialect. Cody found himself gazing attentively at her, wondering what her illness was. It wasn't everyday you were in a confined area with so many people who had been labeled "crazy" by some doctor sitting behind a desk.

_She doesn't act crazy. If I saw her anywhere else, I would have thought she was perfectly normal. Don't crazy people act crazy—don't they scream, and shout, and have delusions, and warped perceptions, and don't they ramble, and carry on, and destroy things? _

_She might be on drugs. True enough. But still, don't drugs leave tell-tale signs behind?_

Thinking about this made Cody's train of thought revert to George.

_Oh man, George. You poor kid. You had a life I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and yet you act like it was nothing at all. I think you pushed those emotions of yours too far down, and you'll have a hell of a time getting them back up…that is, if you ever intend to. If you ever want your freedom that badly. I believe you have secrets, George. Whether you admit to it or not, I know you have secrets. _

_It's kind of ironic, I'd say, that you and I come from opposite sides of the spectrum—you came from hell itself, and I came from love and acceptance, and we both ended up in the same place. With the same problem. _

_The more I think about it, the more confused I get._

"Hey, Cody?" George's voice brought Cody out of his momentary stupor. "The line's moving."

Cody looked ahead of him and saw that, sure enough, there was a gap between him and the dark-skinned girl. He took two steps forward and stood directly behind her. Unintentionally, his arm brushed against hers. She turned her head, looked up, and flashed him a menacing glower. "I know you didn't just touch me!" she spat at him.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Cody muttered. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

She replied with an aggravated snort and then patted the shoulder of the girl ahead of her, asking her if they could switch places in line. The other girl was fine with it, so they switched and Cody was then standing next to another girl who was taller, with hazel eyes, and cropped, strawberry red hair. Cody expected her to glare at him as well, but instead she gave him an apologetic smile. "You'll have to excuse her," she whispered. "She doesn't typically act like that. She just doesn't like to be touched."

"I didn't mean to touch her," Cody defended himself.

"I know, but she still gets mad. She's even cussed _me_ out for touching her, and I'm her best friend. She's better with medication—a lot better than she'd be without it—but she still gets irritated."

"But, she touched you," Cody pointed out, confused. "Just a second ago, she tapped your shoulder."

"Yeah, she does that sometimes. It's like, she's okay with touch as long as she's the one doing the touching. But she hates it if she's being touched. It's part of her mentality."

"That's weird."

"Yeah, it is." The girl's smile widened. She had dimples like Jenny Kroft did, but hers were more pronounced. Her bottom teeth were crooked, but Cody thought that quality made her grin cute. There was a small mole on her cheek which, for some reason, made Cody picture Marilyn Monroe. "My name's Doris," she told him, extending her hand.

Cody took it. "Doris?" he said in amusement. "Wow, that's a name you don't hear anymore."

"My mom named me after Doris Day. She was a famous movie star and singer back in the nineteen-forties. Doris Day, not my mom." Doris laughed. "My mom was a fan of old-timey entertainers. It was always her dream to go to Hollywood and get into the movies."

"So, why didn't she?"

"She got pregnant with me, and then married my dad. She didn't really _want _to marry him, but she did anyway cause she didn't want to raise me by herself. Motherhood kind of got in the way of her dreams. She carried them with her though, in a way. I mean, she named me Doris. And I have a little brother named Elvis. No joke."

Cody giggled. "That's pretty funny. I bet he has fun with it—telling people his name's Elvis."

"Oh yeah!" Doris exclaimed. "He loves it. Just recently he came to visit me, and he told me about his school talent show; he entered it and sang 'Jailhouse Rock.' He didn't win or anything, but he had a lot of fun. He told me he even said 'Thank you very much' the way Elvis did at the end."

There was a pause between them—a pause in which she and Cody simply stared at one another, wondering who each other was, where each other came from…why they were both in a place like this.

Doris took notice that Cody was not wearing the required outfit that all the other patients were wearing. Instead, he was dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans.

"You're not wearing your uniform, and I don't think I've seen you around before," she finally commented. "Are you new?"

"Yeah," Cody replied. "I just arrived earlier today. My name's Cody, by the way."

"Cody," Doris repeated. "I like that name. It's cute. It makes me think of koala bears for some reason. Not that it matters, but anyway…"

Doris saw that the line had moved up some more. She took a few steps forward and came up behind her friend (who slightly inched away from her as she came close). "So, Cody, where are you from?"

"Here. I was raised here in Boston," Cody said.

"Really? I'm from Abington."

Cody nodded. There was a second pause—a more awkward one—as he debated whether or not to ask a question that was lingering over him. He didn't want to get Doris angry, yet his curiosity was urging him on. In the end, he gave in to it.

"Um, Doris?" he said timidly.

"Yeah?"

"Why…just out of curiosity…why are you in here?"

Doris' smile vanished, and for a moment, Cody thought he'd gotten her upset. He was about to apologize, when she answered his question by lifting up her arms and showing him the underside of her wrists. Cody gasped. They were emblazoned with scars. Some were faded, others were rather fresh and they criss-crossed each other, like geometric angles, across her pale skin, going all the way up to where her arms bent inward at the elbows. Some of them appeared to be so deep that they would never totally heal.

"I'm a cutter," Doris told him, despite it being obvious.

"But, why?" Cody asked.

"I…I don't know. Sometimes I just get so angry, and confused, that I can't stand it. And I _hate_ feeling that way. I hate that I don't know who I am, no matter how many times I try to find out."

"Isn't it normal to feel that way?"

"Not with me," Doris said sadly. "I just…I can't explain it. I started cutting a few years ago. I didn't do it all the time; just when I was angry enough. I was able to keep it a secret for a while, but eventually my mom found out. She walked in on me…and, well, that was that. She took me here. My doctor diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder, but I don't really go along with that. It's probably right but I don't like the idea of being labeled. I've been called so many things in the past, and most of them hurt."

"I know what you mean," Cody stated. "I've been called a lot of things too."

"Isn't it just so annoying, and degrading?"

"It can feel like that sometimes."

From behind him, Cody could feel George pat his arm, trying to get his attention. "Hey, dude," he said, "here comes that guy I told you about earlier!"

"Which guy?" Cody asked, turning his head to look.

Before George could answer, a boy that was about Cody's height, with buzzed hair, a stubbly chin, and glasses walked over to them. He was carrying a tray filled with food and was on his way to find a table to sit down at.

"Hey, Spence," George said happily. "How you doin' today?"

The boy called Spence stopped in front of George. He gazed at George seriously for a moment, and then approached him, leaning his tray so far forward that Cody was afraid its contents would spill over the side and make a mess on the floor.

"Careful," George warned, lifting up the leaning side of the tray.

"Hey," Spence said somberly. "Hey, what you gonna do tonight?"

George smiled. "I'm gonna sleep, Spence. How about you?"

Spence's expression didn't change in the slightest. In fact, it was so solemn that it was almost cringe-worthy. He took another step toward George. The edge of his tray lightly touched George's shirt. "Guess what I'm gonna do tonight?" he asked, as though he did not hear what George had just said.

"What you gonna do?" George played along.

"I'm gonna sleep wit' my girlfriend."

Cody felt a giggle escape him. _Now that was odd. Funny, but odd. _

George's smile grew. It wasn't a humorous smile; it was more like the type of smile an adult would give a child said they were going to write a letter to Santa Claus. A smile that had no regards for reality. "You do that," he said. "And have fun."

Spence didn't move. "Hey," he said again. This time, his expression softened a little bit. Just enough to be noticeable. "Can I go home?"

"When the doctors say you can, Spence. When they say you can go home, you can go home."

"M'kay."

Spence started to turn away.

"Hey, Spence!" George stopped him.

Spence turned back around.

"I want you to meet somebody." George pointed at Cody. "This is Cody Martin. He's my new roommate, Spence."

"Hi, Spence," Cody greeted. He extended his hand.

Spence didn't take it. He didn't even look at it. He approached Cody, the same way he had George, and gazed at him seriously. "What _you _gonna do tonight?"

"Uh…sleep?" Cody answered.

"Guess what I'm gonna do tonight?"

Cody was baffled by this. But, like George, he decided to play along. "Sleep with your girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Spence said.

"That sounds…great."

"M'kay." Spence walked off and sat down among a crowd of other boys.

When Spence was out of earshot, George leaned next to Cody and said, "That's the guy who has OCD—the one whose parents ditched him. His name is Spencer Adams, but everybody calls him Spence."

"He's…interesting, to the say the least," Cody declared.

"Yeah, he's a good guy. You just have to be able to tolerate him."

"Why did he say the same thing to me as he said to you?"

"It's his illness. OCD stands for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder."

"I've heard of it," Cody said. "I've just never seen it for real. I took a basic psychology class in college. I heard stories about people who'd wash their hands constantly, every few minutes or so, until they turned raw. And they'd keep doing it because they couldn't help themselves."

"It affects different people in different ways," George explained. "Spence doesn't constantly wash his hands. His obsessive-compulsive behavior is in language. He says the same things over and over again, multiple times in one day, even to the same person. And he can't help it. What he said wasn't true. He's not gonna screw with any girlfriend; I don't think he even has a girlfriend. And he's never gonna leave this place either. He has nowhere else to go."

"Then, why did he ask to go home?" Cody questioned. "And why would he think he has a girlfriend?" It didn't make sense that those words would be the ones he'd repeat.

George shrugged. "Beats me. I don't know exactly how his mind works. I just know the basics."

They waited in line for what could very well have been half an hour before they entered the kitchen and were able to get their food. There was a choice menu: a salad or a sloppy joe for the main entrée, mashed potatoes or green beans for the side dish, a roll if wanted, and for dessert, a brownie or a small piece of cake. That was it. For a drink there were three options: orange juice, milk, or a bottle of water.

Despite not being hungry, Cody took a salad (it looked more edible than the sloppy joe), some mashed potatoes because the green beans looked overdone, a roll, a brownie, and a bottle of water. He figured he'd arouse suspicion if he refused to get anything. George took the same.

When they came out of the kitchen, Cody stared in speculation at the rows of tables in the cafeteria. They were nearly completely full. _Holy crap_, he thought. _Where am I going to sit_? It seemed like everywhere he looked, a chair was taken. Luckily, George didn't seem bothered.

"Well," he said, "what are you waiting for? Let's go sit down." He led Cody down a narrow pathway between the table rows at the far left-hand side of the room, and took him to a partly vacant table that had previously been invisible behind all the heads and bodies situated at tables closer to the kitchen.

There were a few people there, but only a few. There were four girls and two boys. The two boys were talking to each other, as were three of the girls. But the fourth girl was silent. It was Doris, who'd come out of the kitchen moments before Cody and George had. She beamed at Cody when she saw him coming towards her.

"You can sit beside me if you want," she said. And Cody did.

There was an empty chair on his other side, and that's where George sat.

"So, is this all we get to eat?" Cody grimaced down at his tray.

"For lunch, yeah," replied Doris. "Dinner's actually better. There's different staff preparing it cause the ladies who work the daylight shift get off at four. Personally, I think the dayshift ladies are half-asleep when they make the food. It's not that bad though." She took a bite out of her roll. "The bread's good."

Cody chuckled again. He shouldn't have found that funny, but he did. It wasn't what she said, it was the way she said it. He just realized, shortly after doing it, that that had been his first chuckle in a long time.

"Food's food," George cut in. "I'm just glad to have something to eat."

George began eating the minute he sat down. He ate like a starving man, which wasn't surprising; he was as skinny as a twig.

"Doris, I want you to meet my first friend since coming here," Cody said, reaching out and squeezing George's shoulder. "George Tanner."

"Hi," Doris acknowledged him. "I've seen you around here before. I've just never talked to you. I'm Doris."

"I know," George said. "I heard you tell Cody." He took a sip from his water bottle. "So, you were named after Doris Day, were you?"

"That's right."

"Cool. I've seen one or two of her movies. She was hot, back in the day. You don't look a bit like her, but you're pretty too."

"Thanks." Doris took another bite out of her roll.

Cody didn't touch his food, and George called him out on it. "Why aren't you eating, man? You know, dinner's not until six o'clock tonight. You'll be starved by that time if you don't eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Cody told him. "I lost my appetite."

"Well, okay. Suit yourself."

Just then, two more people walked up to their table. Two boys—one thinner, with dark brown hair, tanned skin, and nicely muscled arms protruding from the short sleeves of his white shirt, and one heavy-set, with blonde, shoulder-length hair and glasses. The thinner one had his arm wrapped around the heavy-set one's shoulders, more for support than for affection; the heavy-set boy's eyes were staring blankly into space, seemingly clueless, and his body was swaying back and forth as though he couldn't find balance.

"Hey George!" the thin one said.

"Hey Donnie!" George responded. Then he looked toward the absent-minded, heavier boy and added, "Hey Joey!"

"We already finished eating," Donnie stated. "But we saw you guys come out of the kitchen and decided to come over and talk."

George nodded. "Awesome," he said, his mouth half full with brownie. He pointed his thumb in Cody's direction. "This is Cody. He's my new roommate. Just arrived today."

Donnie's eyes widened. "Oh!" he exclaimed. After seating Joey at the table across from George, he reached over and offered his hand. Cody took it. Donnie had a firm grip. "Nice to meet you, Cody. I'm Donnie Reid. And this here"—he let go of Cody's hand and placed both of his on each of Joey's shoulders—"is my brother, Joey McFarland."

Cody was taken aback. "He's your _brother_?"

"Well, not biologically. My dad married his mom after they both had us from previous marriages. So technically speaking, we're stepbrothers. But, when it comes to honest to goodness family, blood just doesn't mean very much." Donnie took a seat right next to Joey, but Joey didn't pay him any mind. He continued to rock back and forth, his eyes making him appear as though he was in a trance. "So, what about you?" Donnie asked Cody. "You got any siblings?"

Cody stiffened. He'd never told anyone—not even George—about Zack. He'd never been asked to. It was rather strange. He knew about George's sister Sherrie, and Doris' brother Elvis, and Donnie's stepbrother Joey—he knew about all these people's siblings despite not really knowing them that well. And yet, he'd never so much as mentioned Zack. "I do have one," he said, with a hint of sadness. _Oh God…Zack. Why does it make me so sad to talk about Zack? To even think about Zack? Because you hurt him, you half-wit. You hurt him bad, and you know you did. And beneath your distain for life, you feel guilty about that. _"His name is Zack, and he's my twin. My identical twin."

"You have a twin?" George and Doris said simultaneously.

Cody nodded.

"Dude, that's so cool!" George continued. "I'd love to meet him. It'd be kind of wild seeing someone who looked just like you, Cody. Like looking at a clone."

"Not really," Cody said. "We don't look as identical as we did when we were younger. It's pretty easy to tell us apart."

"Are you two anything alike, personality-wise?" Doris asked.

Cody laughed, but it was a hard laugh. A laughed masked by pain. "Nothing alike," he answered. "We're nothing alike, and we never were. We used to fight twenty-four-seven. We were like night and day, pretty much. He was always good at sports, and getting girls; I was always the one who got picked last in gym class and called a 'nerd' every day. Most of the time, _he_ was the one calling me that."

"Did you two ever fight over any girls?" Doris prodded.

"Yeah, sometimes. There was this one time when we met this French girl. Her father was, like, the ambassador of France, and she was staying with him at the Tipton hotel here in Boston—that's where where my brother and I were living—and we fought over her something terrible. It got pretty dirty." Cody flashed Doris an exaggerated smirk. "I locked him in a closet and left him there. And then went and asked her out on a date."

"Did she say yes?" Donnie wanted to know.

"Yep."

"Sweet!"

"Not really. It turned into a disaster. My brother kind of crashed it by tricking me into insulting her by using French phrases."

"Aww, that's too bad," Doris said sadly.

Donnie, however, thought this was very amusing. "So what happened?" he inquired, looking most interested.

"Neither of us got her," Cody answered. "She ended up going for a friend of ours. In retrospect, I think we both deserved it. We were young and naïve, and we were kind of treating her like she was a prize."

"Aw, man!" Donnie exclaimed. "That sucks. And the fact that she was French and had a rich father...damn! That makes it suck even more."

"Instances like that didn't happen very often. I mean, there were also these British twins, but they kind of went back and forth between us. They'd like Zack better for a while, but then turn around and like me better for a while. It was kind of strange. For the most part, though, Zack and I had different tastes in girls. I went after the brainiacs and he went after…well, pretty much everyone else."

"So, wait a minute," George cut in. "You lived at the Tipton hotel? Actually _lived _there?"

"Yeah. My mom got a job there as a lounge singer and we were given room and board. We had our own suite—not one of the luxurious ones, but it was livable."

"Holy shit, man. I've driven past that place; it's huge. I bet your childhood rocked," Donnie said.

Cody nodded, slightly. "It did…in a way."

"I heard that the hotel heiress, London Tipton, lives there too," Doris remarked.

"Oh yeah, I know her."

Doris looked at Cody in shock. "You _know _London Tipton? _The _London Tipton?"

"Yeah, she was—is, I guess—a friend of mine."

"Oh my God! She's, like, my fashion model. I own so many magazines of her, it's not even funny." Doris was clearly ecstatic.

Donnie smiled, agreeing. "I've seen some pictures of her. She's hot."

"I also used to watch her web show—_Yay Me! Starring London Tipton_!" Doris stated cheerily. "I loved it so much!"

"You know," Cody said, "when the show first started out, I was the director _and _producer of it."

If Cody didn't know any better, he'd have sworn that Doris was literally about to burst at that moment. "No way!" she gasped. "You were that little blonde boy she made dress up like a girl?"

"Ye…yeah, that was me," Cody admitted, somewhat embarrassed. That was one memory, along with an assortment of others, that he didn't like to bring up.

"Cody, I've got to get your autograph!"

"Dude, she had you dress like a girl?" Donnie laughed. "Did she pay you to do that?"

Cody didn't answer him. For no particular reason, he looked over at George. Interestingly enough, George had a peculiar expression on his face—something similar to puzzlement. "Okay, back to Zack," he said. "Was he a good brother? They say twins are closer than other siblings."

"I wouldn't say we were _close_," Cody stated. "We fought more than we didn't."

"Yes, but…did he ever have your back?"

Cody thought before answering. He already knew the answer, but he took a minute to think anyway. _He did have my back, several times. Whenever I was really in trouble—whenever I was really hurting…really about to lose something that I cared about—Zack was there to step in. He'd sacrificed a lot for me, and hardly asked me to do the same in return. He could sink really low sometimes…so low that I swore I hated him. I told him I hated him more times than I can count. And I was sure he hated me back. But…I knew he didn't. He couldn't hate me, any more than I could hate him. Under all the disgust and anger, there was love. Immeasurable love. Even when he was annoyed with me, or ashamed of me, he would have taken a bullet for me if he had to. I know he would have._

Cody looked George straight in the eye. "He had my back all the time," he replied. Then he became silent.

He managed to stay silent until the end of lunch time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Well, chapter 8 is finally here! It took me a long time to write it due to an excessive amount of college work, but anyway…here it is. **

**As promised, this chapter has Zack in it. :)**

**Enjoy! And remember, reviews are most welcome!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_** series.**

The sun was shining in Zack's eyes as he gazed fixedly out the window of room 2330, but he didn't care. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, despite appearing as though he was. He was actually thinking. Thinking deeply. His thoughts were spontaneous, disorganized, and confusing. He thought about Cody, about his parents, about Bailey and the email he'd sent her, about his job and concentrating on work, and about life itself. He made mental accusations and asked questions he could never answer.

His head alone felt like a discombobulated mess.

He was miserable mainly because of having to move out of London's suite and into this one—the one with all the memories. Mr. Moseby had come to Zack after he had been in the London Tipton's suite for less than two hours to inform him that the heiress had just called and said she was coming back to the hotel early. So Zack had to leave. "I'm sorry, Zack," Mr. Moseby had assured him. "And I'm afraid the entire hotel is pretty much booked."

Zack nodded, disdainfully. "I understand, Mr. Moseby," he'd said in return. Then he left the room and went down to 2330.

His mom still lived there. She'd been enjoying it more since Zack and Cody moved out because she had the bathroom all to herself now. However, because of all the memories it contained of Cody being happy and going on about his promising future, it wasn't exactly a comforting place for her either.

Everyone was on edge there.

While Zack stared out the window from the living room space, his mom was lying down on the couch, pretending to watch the weather forecast on television, which she had on mute; she didn't want to hear anything—she just wanted something to occupy her line of vision. His dad was out getting something for them to eat from a local restaurant. All was quiet. Under normal circumstances, Zack would have thought it was too quiet. It wasn't typical silence; it wasn't peaceful. It was distressing. Uneasy. An overbearing quiet filled with grief.

Silent grief is the worst. Zack instantly learned that. Everyone mourns on their own, accompanied by their own thoughts. No one expresses themselves.

"Zack," Carey Martin said weakly, bringing him out of his daze. "Honey, could you get me some orange juice from the fridge please?"

Zack got up and walked over to the kitchen space of the room. Images flooded his head—images of Cody as a young, happy-go-lucky teenager, standing in front of the stove, cooking up all kinds of food. Cody always loved to cook. He had been far better at it than their mom. In fact, he used to tell Zack about all these dreams he had of meeting famous chefs across the globe and making his own original dish.

Zack used to ignore him when he spoke about those kinds of things. Now he wished he hadn't.

Although he figured, perhaps it may have been for the better. The images replaying in his memory were a bit fuzzy here and there, and that was a good thing. The clearer they were, the more they stung.

Zack poured his mother a glass of orange juice, and then poured one for himself. He took hers over to her, receiving a subdued "thanks," and then sat at the kitchen table to drink his. He stared attentively at his mother, taking in her appearance in detail. Her eyes were watery and lined with red; he lips were chapped; her hair, which she had recently let grow to reach her shoulders, was tangled and strands of it hid half her face. She was a pitiful picture. She looked so exhausted. So drained of energy.

A sob wedged itself inside Zack's throat. She was shattered. He'd never seen her so fragile before.

_Cody should be ashamed of himself_, Zack thought bitterly. _I bet if he saw her, he _would _be. He'll never know what all his bullshit has done to us. _

He was taken over by a surge of anger, and that anger was directed at Cody. _Why did he have to go off and do something this idiotic_? _I know he was hurting, but still, why did he have to…?_ _Urgh_! _Stupid, selfish prick_! Involuntarily, Zack's fists balled up and his jaw clenched. He wanted to hit something. Anything. He wanted to punch a hole in the wall, to break objects made of glass, to rip apart pillows and pull out stuffing. He wanted to go on a rampage.

He instantly found himself surprised by his own feelings; he'd never wanted to go on a rampage before. Sure, he'd felt plenty of fury in his time, but never enough to where he wanted to destroy everything in his path. It just wasn't like him. He was the laid back kind of guy who either shrugged off problems or totally shunned them—the guy who didn't even like to take things seriously.

_I'm not me anymore, _he mentally admitted. _At least, not now. Now I'm this new Zack—this enraged guy whose emotions are taking him over. This guy who hates the world because his life has been changed too much…changed by situations he couldn't control. _

A tear sprung to his eye. He thought it was strange how there could be a mixture of both anger and sadness within him, especially since he'd never been an emotional person. He felt like he was clogged—plugged up with too much feeling. _Where's the old Zack_? _Will I ever see him again_? _Will I ever become him again_?

Then he remembered that visiting day at Fairoaks Asylum was just two days away. In the next two days, he could see his brother again.

_Will I be able to be the old Zack in front of Cody_?

…………

"Dude, I can't believe you're a twin," George said when he and Cody were locked back in their room.

Cody shrugged. "Well, I am."

"Twins are pretty rare. You are extremely lucky, man."

Cody had rarely thought so. During his childhood, he tended to feel as though he wasn't even an individual, but instead, a carbon copy of someone else. A duplicate. "Why am I so lucky, George?" he asked. "What's so great about being a twin?"

"Are you kidding me?" George cocked his eyebrow. "You could prank people; that'd be the coolest thing ever."

Cody gave a slight smile. "Most people think so."

"You know something?" George speculated. "I've had about fifteen different roommates during my time here, and not one of them was a twin. You're the first."

"I'm honored."

George sat down on his bed, folding his legs across each other. "I bet your mom never caught a break."

Now Cody's smile widened. "You have no idea," he said. "Me and Zack, we'd drive her up the wall with all our shenanigans."

George giggled. "I wonder what her reaction was when she first found out she was having twins."

This brought back a peculiar memory in Cody's mind—one he'd forgotten for the longest time. "Funny thing, actually," he said. "She didn't know until we were born."

"Really?" George asked. "She told you that?"

"Not exactly. She had our birth filmed and she kept the video. Zack found it one day, and he and I watched it. We had no idea what the heck it was until we put it on. Imagine our surprise."

George found this quite intriguing. "I can imagine your disgust."

"Anyway, after she gave birth to Zack she thought it was over. Then a few minutes later, the doctor was like, "Hold on, there's another baby! Carey, you'll have to push again!" She did and, sure enough, there I came. So…yeah. My mom didn't know I existed until the day I arrived. I got to see her face too, on the video; it was…unforgettable."

George laughed. "Fuckin' priceless!"

A small moment of silence ensued in which neither Cody nor George knew what to say. There was a question that was bothering Cody—a question he wanted to ask George that was gnawing at him. It had been gnawing at him since before lunch.

He decided to go ahead and ask it. "George, could I ask you something?"

"Shoot," replied George.

Cody bit his lip. "How do you know so much about people?"

"I talk to them."

That hadn't been what Cody meant. "No, I mean…like Spence, for example. How do you know that his parents ditched him? It's not like he could have told you that."

"Word gets around in here, Cody," George told him. "And Boston is actually a pretty small place. People know each other."

Cody waited for George to say more, but he didn't. Cody wasn't satisfied with that explanation. It was too simple. "That doesn't really answer my question," he pointed out.

George shrugged, unknowingly. "That's the best answer I can give you. That and I just know people. It's a gift."

Cody thought it best to leave it at that.

They spoke about the end of the day after that. First, the patients would get a chance to go to the entertainment room, where they would stay until six o'clock. At six, they would have dinner, and then go back to their rooms for two hours. They would have one last restroom break at nine where they could brush their teeth and relieve themselves. Then it would be lights out.

By the next day, Cody would most likely be given his patient outfit—the white pajamas. He would also be having another visit with Dr. Thompson sometime in the morning; new patients tended to have early sessions with their doctors.

George told Cody what to expect on his first full day at Fairoaks. Breakfast at nine in the morning, then showers, then room time for a while, a restroom break, outside time (which could sometimes be turned into entertainment room time due to inclement weather), then room time again, and then lunch…and the rest Cody already knew.

_Wonderful, _Cody thought sarcastically. _I can't wait for tomorrow._

…………

The entertainment room was nothing special. To Cody, it resembled an old-timey living room; there was a TV and a radio, situated on opposite sides of the room, as well as two boxes—one filled with paper and art utensils, and the other one filled with board games, puzzles, and a deck of cards. Cody and George decided to take out the cards. They were going to play a one-on-one game of 'War,' but then Doris—who happened to be allowed in the entertainment room at the same time as them—and another man who was much older, came up to them and said they wanted to play cards too. So they ended up playing a game of 'Poker.'

There were nurses present, naturally. When was there ever not? They wandered around, here and there, trying to interest certain patients in doing something, giving other patients inspiration, and complementing those doing art on their work. They also stopped an argument that broke out between these two men; one was watching the news on TV and the other was listening to music on the radio, and they each claimed the other had the volume up too loud.

They stayed in the entertainment room for an hour. Cody had another conversation with Doris, and he became more interested in that than in the game. He learned much more about her: he found out that her last name was Wydell, that she was bisexual, that she was molested once by a next door neighbor when she was eleven, and that her childhood dream was to go into cosmetics. She was a fast talker; and it seemed like, overall, she was enjoying herself, despite some of her topics being very negative. Cody thought she was somewhat like George, except for when it came to suppressing emotions. Doris even admitted that she could be very emotional. More so that she probably should be.

They managed to play two full games of 'Poker.' Doris had won one, and George had won the other, but Cody didn't care. He'd been more engrossed in talking to Doris anyway.

From the entertainment room, they all went to dinner.

Doris had been right about dinner. It was better than lunch. There had been steak and a much better prepared salad, and chocolate pudding for dessert. Cody had actually eaten at dinnertime. The looks of the cafeteria still didn't do his appetite any good, but he'd been too hungry not to eat anything.

As he expected, George had given him a little "I told you so" speech.

After dinner, when Cody and George were taken back to their room, George was given another dose of Depakote. "That's just what I need!" he'd muttered sarcastically. Then they were alone again, forced to use up the time by talking. George tried to prod Cody for some details about his past, but Cody didn't say much. He told him about some things, like the famous people he'd gotten to meet—Tony Hawk, Hannah Montana, Jordan Sparks, and Kurt Warner—as well as some of the countries he'd been to, but that was just about it.

George thought all that was positively amazing. Cody had done things that he'd never so much as dreamed about. George had never seen a celebrity in person before; and he'd never left the United States. "Okay, it's official," he said. "You are now my favorite roommate."

There was one last restroom break. Cody spent the entire time brushing his teeth and examining himself in the mirror.

Then it was lights out.

…………

Zack did not want to sleep in his and Cody's childhood room at all. It was bad enough to be in 2330 itself, but to be in that room, with the two beds, the desks, and the familiar carpet that still had stains on it? The memories would be beyond anything else. Unbearable wasn't even the right word to describe them.

But Zack didn't have a choice. His parents were sleeping on the pull-out bed in the living room space and all the other rooms in the hotel were taken. Zack considered sleeping in the hotel lobby on one of the couches, but he decided against it; that would look—not to mention, feel—too strange.

His old bed felt smaller than he remembered it. But that made sense given that he was older and bigger. The sheets were different, but nevertheless, it still felt so familiar. Past restful nights and nightmares both clouded his memory. Preventing any chance of sleep.

He'd told himself he wouldn't do this, but he did it anyway. He opened his eyes (which he'd tried to keep firmly shut) and glanced over at the other end of the room—where Cody's old bed lay vacant.

A sharp spasm erupted in his chest. The pain shot all the way up through his throat, lodged itself in his esophagus, and brought tears to his eyes.

_I'm not going to cry. Not now. I've already cried enough. _

An image of a thirteen-year-old Cody lying in bed, fast asleep, involuntarily popped into Zack's defiant mind. It was followed by another image of Cody saying good-night to him, and another of Cody's silhouette sitting at the edge of his bed, talking to Zack about typical problems that thirteen-year-old boys face.

_Cody. _The name itself was like acid in Zack's mouth. It should not have been, but it was. They say there's nothing in a name. That names aren't important. Zack used to think that was true; but now, he wasn't so sure. Granted, names didn't define a person, but they were how a person was known to others. A person's character determined the status of their name. To Zack, the name "Cody" was painful—it represented longing; yet, at the same time, it felt like a knife in his back. It wasn't just the name of Zack's brother. It was the name of his _twin_. His other half, who had shared a womb with him.

_Names may not hold meaning in the grand scheme of things, but that name means everything in the world to me. _

Before he knew what he was doing, Zack curled into a fetal position and pulled the covers up over his head. He couldn't suppress his tears anymore so he just let them fall. They slid to his temple, across the bridge of his nose, and soaked through his pillow.

Zack covered his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle the sound as he cried.

…………

Bed time was, unfortunately, not quiet time at Fairoaks Asylum. As Cody lay on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling, which appeared black in the darkness of the night, he couldn't drown out the noise coming from the other rooms. There was screaming, and crying, and whimpering, and begging. And accompanying all that was the pitter-patter of shoes and the reassurance of soft voices as the nurses scurried from one room to the next, administering meds and offering comfort.

The night tends to be a frightening time for people. They're wrapped in darkness, often alone, and they feel more vulnerable to whomever or whatever might harm them. Fear of the night is normal. Nearly everyone has some fear of it, even if it's a miniscule amount.

But a great deal of the patients at Fairoaks feared it tremendously.

Cody heard one man from several rooms down the hall give a loud, ear-splitting scream and then yell, over and over again, that he was on fire. "You're not on fire, Mr. Young," said a nurse, firmly. But the man continued to scream. "Mr. Young, listen to me—you're _not_ on fire. The fire's not real. You're just fine, see? See, Mr. Young? You're fine." As the nurse kept trying to convince the man that he wasn't on fire, she got more and more stern. Eventually, his yelling ceased.

Shortly after that came the voice of a girl, closer to where Cody was, shouting at another nurse. "I know who you are!" she hollered. "That's right, I know who you are! This ain't no hospital. No, this—this is a fucking government conspiracy! Yeah! That's what this is—a fucking conspiracy! I'm not crazy. I'm totally fucking sane and you guys know it! You guys just wanna experiment on me!" The nurse that tried to calm her down had a no-nonsense tone. "Now, now, Valerie," she said. "You know perfectly well that this is not a government conspiracy. We go through this every night. You're sick, and we're here to help you. Now, if you please, take your medicine and go to sleep." The girl called Valerie didn't sound too pleased with that at first, but finally she, too, succumbed.

Cody heard other things too that night. He heard fears of people he didn't know, and probably would never know. Fears that were not his. Fears he couldn't fathom. He heard accusations, and promises, and every fowl word under the sun. He heard pleading, and threats, and past problems coming alive through fragile minds.

And sometime later that night—most likely in the early a.m.—Cody heard whimpering from the other side of his own room. He looked over at George, who was sleeping on his stomach with his face turned toward the wall. "George?" he whispered. George didn't answer him. He just continued to whimper. Cody got up and tiptoed over to George's bed, leaning over to try to get a glimpse of him. "George?" he repeated. Still no reply. Only whimpering.

George was asleep. And he was dreaming.

Cody could faintly make out his words: "But you're not my daddy…I don't wanna…doesn't taste good…doesn't taste like milk…ow! Ow, you're hurting me! Please stop! Please…daddy…please stop!" It was strange hearing so much emotion in his voice.

Cody patted George's shoulder. "George, wake up!"

When George still did not stir, Cody shook him. "George, wake _up_!"

George shot awake. Cody backed up, afraid for a moment that he was going to get hit in the face by a flailing arm. George turned his face and looked at Cody through half-closed eyes. "Cody?" he muttered. "What is it?"

"You were dreaming," Cody replied. "Are you alright?"

George wiped his sleepy eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, buddy, I'm alright."

George turned over and instantly fell back to sleep. Cody went back to his own bed and laid down. From outside, the chaos continued.

Cody distinctly heard this one boy—he didn't sound too old—beg one of the nurses to let him call his brother. "Please!" he cried relentlessly. "Please, please…let me call Charlie! Let me call my big brother! I need to talk to him! Please! He can get me out of here. I _have_ to get out of here! You have to let me talk to Charlie!" Of course, the nurse wouldn't let him.

Cody instantly thought of Zack, and a burst of pain throbbed in his chest. _Zack. _Cody grimaced; it hurt so badly to think of him. _Zack, man, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to drag you into all this. I love you, bro. I always did. I want to tell you that…again. I want to say it a hundred times over._

_But at the same time, I want to tell you I don't understand you. I don't get why you let me get taken here. You could have asked the doctors not to send me. You could have argued and lied in my defense…cause you're good at lying and arguing. Why did you think I needed this? _

_Did you really think I was crazy? Crazy enough to be in a place like this?_

_And if I was, would you still love me?_

_Do you still love me now?_

Cody curled into a fetal position, buried his face into a scruff of his covers, and softly cried himself to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry that it's been a while since I've updated. In my defense, it's nearly spring break and the professors at college like to pile everything on their students right at the ****last minute****.**

**Here is chapter 9. I hope you like it. It was one of the hardest to write because of Zack's breakdown at the end. Btw, here's some food for thought: which twin do you think is hurt the worst by all this? Cody or Zack? (not an easy question). Anyway, feel free to give me feedback.**

**p.s. In the next chapter, Zack will visit Cody! **

When Cody stepped out the back door of Rosenberg Hall, the sun's blinding light made him have to shield his eyes. He'd gotten used to the darkness of his and George's room. Not that it was totally dark, or uncomfortably so. But it was a great deal darker than this.

Cody had been looking forward to outside time. It seemed it would be the best part of his day. The closest thing to freedom he would have as a patient at Fairoaks. Outside time was when he could roam around without being confined by walls, and feel the effects of nature, which—even after a day—he had already begun to miss. He'd feel the wind, see the trees, smell the aromas of spring…act as though he wasn't in a loony bin. He'd immerse himself in welcome surroundings that were normal and stable.

The acting would be hard though. He'd been given the white-pajama patient outfit earlier that morning and had been instructed to put it on. Now he looked like everyone else. He'd lost his identity. His sense of self. And besides that, he was standing among a crowd of other patients, some of whom were mumbling to themselves, and twitching, and rocking back and forth.

_It's hard to break from reality when reality is constantly in your face, reminding you of its presence._

There were benches outside of Rosenberg Hall, all situated across from each other, several feet apart. And further away, up a little hillside, was a basketball court. There was also a pavilion somewhere; Cody had seen it when he first came there. But he didn't remember exactly where it was and he didn't want to ask.

Cody sat himself down on a bench and breathed a sigh of relief.

_It's not freedom…but it's as close to it as I'll ever experience so long as I'm here. _

It was really warm out. Probably close to 70 degrees. And Cody thought it felt good. The sun was massaging his skin. The breeze was contrasting it, creating a perfect pattern of warmth and coolness.

Cody closed his eyes and let his thoughts take over. He was weary from the night of practically no sleep before, so he half-way dozed and succumbed to whatever dreams met him.

He dreamt of a screaming girl with no face, and a woman who shape-shifted from a nurse to a government official; he dreamt of hallways that never ended and fluorescent lights that flickered and played tricks on his eyes; he dreamt of quiet bedrooms and bureau drawers, and loaded guns going off and bullets ripping through flesh—he even thought he heard the sound of a steady heart beat.

Then he dreamt about Zack. He dreamt that Zack was crouching in a corner with his hands shielding his face, and that—without warning—a transparent, featureless figure came out from within him and said, "What have you done to me, Cody?" That was the last thing Cody saw before he was woken up by the sound of Jenny Kroft's voice.

"Cody?"

Cody opened his eyes, realizing for the first time just how heavy his eyelids were.

Jenny Kroft looked beautiful in the sunlight. Her eyes shown a deeper shade of blue and her blonde hair appeared to be outlined in gold. Her skin almost looked bronze against the white light shining from behind her, and her smile was radiant. Cody took in how perfect her teeth were and how the dimples in her cheeks gave her an innocent look. It was adorable.

"Hey, Jenny," he said weakly.

She took a seat beside him and crossed her legs. Cody caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled nice. Like crackling leaves in the fall time with a hint of dew. Very natural.

"You doing okay?" she asked, concerned.

_How to answer that question_?

"As well as can be expected." That was the best, most honest reply he thought he could give.

"Do you need something? I could get you a drink of water. Do you smoke? You're allowed to smoke now if you want."

"No, I'm…I'm good." That wasn't true. He wasn't good. In fact, he was far from good. But what would make him better he couldn't have.

Jenny nodded.

There was a minute of serene silence between them. Cody was afraid for a second that he would doze off again. His eyelids began to droop.

Jenny noticed them. "Tired?"

Her question woke him up. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I hear you." She looked at him in understanding. "I've worked the night shift before…and I'm glad I don't do it anymore. Night time is the worst. Everybody's antsy and scared. Their demons come back to them."

_What do you know of demons, Jenny? Do you have any yourself_?_ I suppose you do, but you seem too nice to know about demons. _

Cody shifted his gaze downward, wanting to ask her something but not sure of whether or not he should. Jenny noticed this as well. "What is it?" she wanted to know.

Cody sucked in a quick breath and decided to go ahead and ask. "I'm just wondering…why are you working in a place like this?"

Jenny wasn't offended, but she looked at him in perplexity. "Why wouldn't I work in a place like this?"

"Well, this place is…you know…it's…" Cody tried to grasp for the right word, but the only one that came out his mouth was: "crazy."

Jenny's look turned hard for a moment, and Cody thought for sure that he'd made her angry. But then she let out a laugh and said, "You got that right."

Cody laughed too, more from relief than amusement. He watched as Jenny pulled a loose strand of yellow hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

She answered the question: "This place—I mean, sure it's crazy. The people give you a hassle, you constantly have to be alert, you work strange hours, but…it's so rewarding. The work itself makes you feel good. Well, at least, to me it does. I like coming home feeling like I made a useful contribution to someone, even if it was as simple as getting them to eat their lunch, or telling them to have confidence. It makes me feel…I guess…proud of myself."

Cody nodded. He got that. He understood the need for a sense of pride. "So, how long have you been working here?"

"Just shy of a year. I'm fresh out of college so this is…intense. I spent six years training for this, and now here I am, living it."

"You spent six years in college?" Cody asked.

"I went to graduate school and got a master's degree in clinical psychology."

Again, Cody nodded. His vision scanned the grassy lawn before him, taking in the back and forth movement of legs in action. Legs of fellow patients, walking, running around, jumping, lagging, standing still. All cloaked in white, cotton material.

George was out there, among a group of three other boys, leaning against the trunk of a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. Cody could tell he was having a conversation.

It all appeared perfectly normal. An everyday life picture.

"Jenny," Cody said, "do you think I'm crazy?" He blurted the question out before he could stop himself. But he didn't regret it. He wanted to know the truth of how she felt about him.

Jenny thought long and hard before replying. Then, finally, she said, "I think…you have some…some negative feelings, and that you've been in some…unpleasant situations." Her words were slow. Carefully chosen. This was no doubt something she was taught to do. Don't offend the patients; be honest and direct, but keep their goodwill—she'd probably had that drilled into her head. "Not that everyone doesn't have problems. You just…you need to work through yours a little better than you were previously."

_What a euphemism. _

Cody gave her a knowing look. Not one that said "I understand and comply with that," but one that said, "Hey, I know what you just did."

Immediately, Jenny tried to redeem herself. "You're here so you can have someone to talk to—someone who knows about people and their feelings. You need to express yourself. I think you've been keeping things bottled up inside for too long, and that's not healthy. You need to get all your feelings, whatever they may be, out into the open. That way, you can move on. You can live a happy life."

_A happy life. Pfft! That sounds so fairy-tale. Like happily ever after. What's going to happen_ a_fter I express myself_?_ Am I going to ride off into the sunset to some ideal place and have everything I ever wanted_?_ Is that a "happy" life_? _What is a happy life, Jenny_? _What makes a happy life_? _Does it even exist_?

Cody said nothing, averting his focus back to George. But he thought about Jenny's words. He thought about them intensely.

Then, suddenly, he saw one of the boys who was standing across from George haul off and hit George in the face. The blow was so powerful that it knocked George over onto the ground, flat on his face.

"Oh my God!" Cody exclaimed, taken aback. "Did you see that?"

Jenny shot up off the bench. "Stay here!" she told Cody, and then she sprinted off toward the scene.

Cody didn't exactly do what he was told. He respected Jenny, but he was more worried about George. Slowly, cautiously, he came forward, staying far enough away so as to not get anyone's attention, but close enough to where he could see George more clearly. George had scrambled to his feet and taken a defensive stance, ready to fight back if he needed to. His nose was bleeding but he didn't seem to mind.

The boy who'd attacked him was big and burly, with hair that was buzzed along the sides of his head but thicker on top. He was shouting like a maniac and spurting out a string of cuss words, but nevertheless, Cody could barely hear what he said. Nurses crowded around him, ordering him to back away. He didn't listen. Instead, he made another lunge at George and was soon pushed to the ground himself by the nurses, who practically jumped on top of him. When they had him down, one of them produced a pencil-like object and jammed the tip of it into the boy's arm. Cody knew what it was—a syringe. He didn't know what the drug inside of it had been, but pretty soon, whatever it was made the boy pass out.

After that little excitement was over, it was announced that the patients needed to go back in. Cody wanted to wait for George to come over before heading into the building; they had always been taken back to their room together. But this time, George was led away by these two nurses that Cody didn't recognize, and Cody was taken to their room alone.

…

Not long after coming back within the walls of isolation, Cody was taken once again to Dr. Thompson's office. Dr. Thompson looked rather fatigued and disinterested, but he managed to welcome Cody with a smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Martin," he said.

"Good morning, Dr. Thompson," Cody replied, even though it hadn't been one.

"How've you been since the last time we talked?" Dr. Thompson beckoned to the chair in front of his desk and, just like last time, Cody took a seat.

_He probably expects me to say something that'll make him look good. Something positive. Even if it's not the truth._

Cody avoided that question and instead said, "There was a fight outside. Well, it was more of an attempted clobbering. My roommate got hurt."

"Yes, so I've been told. I'm sorry you had to see that. Sometimes, such incidences happen beyond our control. I hope it didn't frighten you too much." Dr. Thompson was clearly not satisfied by the turn of conversation, but he didn't have much of an option but to go on with it. The patients were supposed to take the lead. The doctors were supposed to follow. That was the way it was done.

"It was a little nerve-wracking," Cody admitted.

"I can imagine so, given the fact that you're so new here. But, other than that, how have you been."

_He's pumping me. He's pumping me for just the right answer. He'll probably keep pumping me until he gets it._

Cody considered what to say to that. He went for the same thing he'd told Jenny earlier: "I didn't get very much sleep last night. Too much noise."

Dr. Thompson still wasn't satisfied. If anything, he was more flustered. "You'll get used to that over time as well."

Cody remained silent. His eyes scanned the room, observing the desk in front of him—which was still hidden beneath papers—where Dr. Thompson's little notebook was lying, next to a red pen, then moved over to the bookshelf, where the spines of the reference books and encyclopedias were the only source of color, then shifted to the filing cabinet, and then landed back on Dr. Thompson himself.

"Just out of curiosity, when was the last time you got some sun?" Cody wanted to know. He wasn't sure where that question came from, but he didn't care. He was curious.

"Why do you want to know?" Dr. Thompson asked, taking up the red pen, just about to write something down.

Cody felt the urge to laugh.

_He thinks I'm giving him insight into my feelings. That is actually hilarious. It's funny how psychiatrists find meaning in the most meaningless things._

"Because," Cody answered, "you look like you need it."

"Well," Dr. Thompson said, trying to sound reassuring and professional, "unfortunately, with my schedule, I don't have the time to indulge myself."

Cody didn't let up. "Why don't you hold meetings outside with your patients, when the weather is nice?"

"It goes against protocol." Dr. Thompson scribbled as he spoke.

_I know all about protocol. I used to follow it blindly._

"I think that's ridiculous."

Dr. Thompson stopped writing and looked up at Cody. "What you think about that doesn't matter. It's been long established that all meetings must take place in a professional setting."

_And why is that, Dr. Thompson_? _Is it so the patients feel more enclosed—more vulnerable_? _More willing to tell you what you want them to_?

"Would you like to talk today?" Dr. Thompson was ready to get down to business.

Cody shrugged. "We're talking now," he replied.

"Yes, of course. But I meant…well, I meant about how you feel."

Cody knew perfectly well what he meant, but he acted as though he didn't. He was stalling because he didn't want to talk about any of that, yet at the same time, he didn't want to spend this session sitting quietly in the room, trying to fight exhaustion and boredom. _When trying to avoid interrogation, play dumb._ That had once been Zack's advice, and it had always worked for him. So Cody was going to try it now. "How I feel about what?" he asked naïvely, sounding as genuine as he could.

If expressions themselves could talk, Dr. Thompson's would have been saying "Don't even think about being a smart-ass with me, boy." Luckily they couldn't, and all Dr. Thompson physically said was, "About dealing with your problems."

"Oh," said Cody. "That's certainly a depressing topic on a lovely day like today."

"But it's why you've been brought here." Dr. Thompson folded his hands neatly over his notebook, making himself appear eager and willing—attempting to make Cody gain a false sense of security. "You're here to talk about yourself…about your depression. And to reflect on your emotions."

Cody looked seriously at Dr. Thompson. "Honestly, right now I'd much rather reflect on my outfit." He gestured toward his pajama-like attire. "I would love to add color back to my wardrobe if it's all the same to you, cause this right here—_this_ is depressing."

"The uniforms required for patients are beyond my line of work. All I'm able to tell you is that they are intended to be comfortable and impossible to hide things in. It's all about safety."

"Safe clothing can still be colorful, and different."

Dr. Thompson sighed in aggravation. "I suppose it was meant to prevent unnecessary stereotyping."

"Stereotyping?"

"Yes. Labeling someone by their clothes is quite common, especially with people who are mentally unbalanced. It's hard to label someone, or single out certain people, if they are all wearing the same thing."

Cody didn't think that was the case. It seemed to him that it would be the other way around—that normal people would stereotype more, because they had more expectations. They paid attention more to guidelines. Mental people, on the other hand, didn't. They were just concerned with the bare basics—food, sleep, and happiness. If that. They most likely wouldn't think twice about what someone was wearing. So long as that person didn't bother them or be an unpleasant disturbance to how they liked things, they would be just fine.

Cody shook his head, thinking it was funny how he was suddenly concerned about stereotyping and clothes. _Well, it's better than thinking about nothing and trying not to doze off. _It's such a funny thing when the mind wanders.

Dr. Thompson looked somewhat surprised by the topic as well. But he didn't act like he was. "So, I assume you don't want to talk today?" he asked.

"You assume correctly," Cody answered.

"That's perfectly alright. As I said before, you can take all the time you need. We'll be spending hours upon hours in this room together; I'll do my best to earn your trust."

_I doubt your best is going to be enough, Dr. Thompson. You'll be spending hours upon hours in this little office, fighting for a lost cause. _

Dr. Thompson dialed an extension and called a nurse to come and get Cody.

When Cody went back to his room, he found George Tanner there waiting for him.

…

"That's it!" Kurt stated sharply. "Carey, Zack—we have to talk! Right now, we have to sit down here and talk about this!" He sat down at the kitchen table.

Carey and Zack, who'd been sitting silently on the couch in the living room space, passed each other a look, and then got up and came over to the table as well. Carey took a seat next to Kurt and Zack took one across from him. They waited for him to speak.

"We need to talk about Cody," he told them seriously.

Unexpectedly, uncontrollably, a rush of anger took hold of Zack. He did not want to talk about Cody. He did not even want Cody's name to be mentioned around him. Its acid burned his esophagus. Smoldered his chest.

"What about Cody?" he retorted. "He's the reason we're in this mess."

"I know that, son, but…" Kurt paused, considering what to say. "We still need to talk about him. All this lying around—it's not good. The sooner we talk about it, the better."

Zack didn't know why, but he felt resentful of his father for saying this. "What's to say? He shot himself. That's it. He came home after a little break up, and then shot himself behind everyone's backs."

Instantly, his mother looked down and began to cry.

"Zack!" Kurt exclaimed.

"What? You said you wanted to talk about Cody. Well, there you have it—the 411 on your younger son. Nothing else to say…except that now he's in a nut house."

His mother's sobs intensified.

"Zack, no! That's not how we're going to go about this!" Kurt was frustrated. Hopelessness shown like a beacon on his face. He wanted to talk about Cody—he needed to—but he had no idea how. How does a father talk about the attempted suicide of his son? Especially with that son's mother and twin brother.

"Then how should we go about it, Dad? Huh? How should we talk about this? Do you want us to lie to each other and say that Cody's coming home tomorrow? Is that it? Would you rather us pretend that he's on vacation?"

"No, Zack, no…of course not. We can't do that." Kurt reached over and rubbed Carey's back. Slowly, her sobs were reduced to sniffles. "We sure as hell can't do that. We need to talk about how we're going to help him." Carey's eyes moved from the table to him and found his eyes. She held them there for a moment, anticipating any comfort he could give. "How we're going to…to make him better." Kurt spoke assuredly.

If the old Zack were in charge, he would have agreed without hesitation. But it was the new Zack who was in the driver's seat now—the bitter, cynical Zack who was filled with rage. And before he knew what was coming out of his mouth, he snorted and said, "Oh sure, like we can really make him better. Like we can just go in there, tell him we love him, make him promise not to do it again, and then walk back out with our problem solved. Christ! Don't you realize he's _not_ going to get better? There is no getting better from this—there's no turning back. He made his choice. He fucked us over and now here we are, reaping what he sowed!"

Zack watched, partially in mute horror and partially in audacious defiance, as his father exploded in anger. "What the fuck is your problem, kid?" he yelled.

_The last time he called me "kid" instead of "Zack" or "son" was years ago, when I accidently broke his new guitar._

Usually, he hated it when his father was angry. Especially since he'd hardly gotten to see him during his childhood, given that he was constantly touring. But now, it was different. _He _was different. His brain was wired with spark plugs and convulsing with a mad surge of electricity. He was on fire, riding a current without any knowledge as to where it would take him. The surge was anger, he knew that. But it felt more like something tangible—like fire. "Golly, I don't know, pops," he replied, putting on an innocent school-boy face to make his point. "What is my problem? Why on Earth should I have a problem with the fact that my own twin brother is fucking insane? That he came to me just to tell me I was right about something, and then blew his chest out with my fucking hardware! Tell me, why would I have a problem with that?"

For a long lapsing minute, neither Zack nor Kurt said anything. They were both two infuriated to speak. Zack was afraid that Kurt might actually hit him—that, at any second, his temper would get the better of him and he would reach across the table and slap him in the face. But that never happened. The only thing Kurt did was stare. Glare, more like. But, nevertheless, he was silent.

The only sound they heard came from Carey, who had broken down into unrestrained tears. Finally, Kurt leaned close to her and whispered "Why don't you go lie back down?" in her ear. Without a word, she stood up and walked back over to the couch.

Which left Zack and Kurt alone at the table.

Zack was the first to break the silence. "Why would I have a problem"—he repeated—"with the fact that I wasn't there to stop him, Dad? He tried to kill himself in _my_ house, with _my_ gun, and I wasn't even there to stop him."

All of a sudden, the old Zack was inching his way back into the driver's seat, pushing the new Zack out. The new Zack squirmed and kicked, and screamed to be left alone, but the old Zack was too strong. The old Zack was full of hope, and longing, and willingness to believe, and he had decided that he'd had enough of the new Zack's skepticism. "I should have seen it coming. I should have seen it. I felt that something was wrong. In my gut, I just…I knew it. But I didn't pay attention to it. I completely ignored it." The more he spoke, the more victorious the old Zack became in winning out over the new. But hope was not what the old Zack was feeling. Hope was not the feeling that arose within him, pouring water over the new Zack's fire. Neither was it willingness, or longing.

It was regret.

Zack saw that his father's expression had changed, doing a totally180 from a dangerous look of seething wrath to one of empathy.

"I went on to work without thinking about the consequences," Zack continued. "I told myself that he'd be just fine." The old Zack was in control now, and regret was enveloping him from the inside out. Strangely enough, regret was just as merciless as anger. "I told myself that everything would be fine. That there was nothing unnatural about this. Nothing to worry about. He'd been through this before; he'd get through it again. I'd help him get through it."

Right then, tears pricked Zack's eyes. "I should have stayed, Dad. I should have been a better brother and stayed with him. I should have stayed home, instead of going off like I did."

"Zack," Kurt spoke gently, "don't do this to yourself. You haven't done anything wrong. You didn't know that this was going to happen."

"I'm supposed to know!" Zack cried. "He's my brother! I have to protect him, and I didn't! I wasn't there! It's my fault, Dad! It's my fault I wasn't there. I should have been with him cause he needed me, but I wasn't. Oh God, it's my fault!" The tears spilled over and slid down his cheeks.

"Zack, you listen to me—it _wasn't _your fault." Kurt looked his son directly in the eye. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, understand? None of this is your fault. All you did was go to work and then come home and find him. The rest was his doing. Not yours."

Zack seemed not to have heard him. "You know what the worst part about it is?" he continued. "I was angry at myself, but not at having left him. I was angry at having left my stupid blueprints. I only came back home cause I needed to get them…and I was _so _angry. But, if that hadn't happened…if I had taken them with me…" Zack grimaced at a horrible thought. The new Zack could have finished that sentence, but the old Zack couldn't. The old Zack couldn't so much as bear the thought.

Immediately, as if realizing the meaning of it all for the first time, Zack buried his face into his hands and dissolved into hysterics.

The weight of truth is a heavy cross. When Zack carried it, it forced him down. Physically. He couldn't so much as sit upright. He bent over pitifully, like a rag doll.

Kurt reached over the table and ran his fingers through his son's hair. "Hey," he soothed, "It's okay. It's okay, son. Don't think like that. It's in the past. You _did _come home, and you _were _there on time. That's all that matters."

"Don't say that!" Zack begged, his face still hidden behind his hands. "Please don't say that! Don't tell me I did the right thing. Tell me I was wrong. _Please _tell me I was wrong! Tell me you're ashamed of me! But please…please don't say that!"

Without his knowledge, tears stung Kurt's eyes as well. His one son tried to literally kill himself; and now his other son was doing the same emotionally. "Oh, Zack…" Kurt's voice broke. He paused and swallowed.

"Don't forgive me, Dad!" Zack implored. "Don't forgive me!"

Kurt couldn't speak, for he had begun to cry.

There was nothing to forgive…and nothing else to say.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10! As promised, this is where Zack visits Cody. This is also where a little more is revealed about George. Sorry it's so long; it's over 5,000 words.**

**Hope you like it! Please review!**

**Also, just so everything is clear, this story is NOT about twincest. Twincest has nothing to do with this story; it's just about a strong brotherly bond between Zack and Cody. I thought I should mention that. :) **

**Lastly, I thought you might like to know: Dr. Maps will return in the next chapter.**

"So what happened out there?" Cody asked George, who now had a small, white bandage over the bridge of his nose.

"This punk came over to me and offered to pull his dick out," George told him indifferently. "He wanted me to blow him."

Cody looked at him incredulously. "Blow him? Like, suck his…?"

"Yeah, that's what blow him means."

"Well yeah, but…he wanted you to do it right then and there?"

"Yep."

Cody couldn't wrap his head around this. _That big, brawny football player looking dude wanted George to give him a blow job_? "You say that so casually."

George shrugged. "Ah, shit like that happens around here all the time. You gotta remember, the guys in this place are crazy sons o' bitches." He touched his index and middle finger gently to his nose.

"Is it broken?" Cody asked.

"Nah, but it hurts like a mother."

"So, I assume you told him no." Cody, who was sitting on his bed, straightened his legs out to prevent them from falling asleep.

George looked at him with a bemused expression. "Ya think?"

"He hit you pretty hard, didn't he?"

It was a rhetorical question, so George didn't answer it. Instead, he said, "I'm used to fighting. I got into a shitload of fights when I was a gang member. This is nothing. I've been in fights where I nearly died."

Cody decided to leave that alone. He'd already heard enough of George's back story and didn't have the stomach to hear any more of it. "What the hell was he yelling about after he hit you?" he asked. "He was standing there screaming like a raving lunatic."

"I don't know; I was a little busy scrambling to my feet. It was something about how no one loved him and the world was a giant piece of shit, and every person was a worthless little fucker. Something along those lines."

_Well, that's curious. _

Cody sighed. He'd been worried about George after the fight. He'd been worried about how dazed—or how angry—George would be. He also had wondered where the nurse had taken him when everyone else went back into the building. "Where did they take you?" he wanted to know.

"To the infirmary. They just checked to see if my nose was broken and put a bandage over it. Then they gave me my Depakote and sent me back. When I got here, I saw that you were gone."

"I had to go talk to my therapist."

"Ah! Yeah, that's right. You're a newcomer. Newcomers have early sessions." George stopped touching his nose and began picking at a small scab next to his elbow on his left forearm. "So how was it?"

"Boring…and somewhat amusing."

"Amusing, huh?"

"Yeah, the guy kept prodding me. He kept trying to pump me for answers he knew I didn't want to give."

"Well, what do you expect? It's his job to pump. He's your the-_rapist_."

_Gee, you must hate therapists immensely, don't you George_?

"I protested the outfits," Cody added. "Told him I wanted to add color back to my wardrobe."

George gave a little crooked smile. "That's my boy," he said. "Let the man have it."

"I was being sarcastic. I just didn't want to sit there, bored out of my skull."

"But I bet you got on his nerves, though. I bet you pissed him off."

Cody considered what Dr. Thompson's expressions and mannerisms had been. "I think so, but he seemed okay with me not wanting to talk. He said I could have all the time I needed to open up to him."

"Look man, that's what they all say. My doctor—he's been saying that same thing for nearly three years, but I can tell he's about ready to throw me out the window. He's convinced I have some dark secret that I'm not telling him; he can't get it through his thick, dumb-fuck head that I've already spilled everything."

_But you haven't, George. I'm no psychiatrist, and I'm no the-rapist…but I can tell that you have a secret. I know you do. You can't convince me otherwise. _

"But, George, I haven't told everything. I _do _have secrets. I just…I don't really know how to express them. I can't talk about them because I can't make them out. I don't think I could explain them if I tried."

"Doesn't really matter. Like I said before, they'll probably just wind up putting you on pills to keep you happy. They just have those talking sessions to make themselves look good, but that's it. Do what I do, man. Stay quiet. Let that doctor do his prodding. Throw him off, keep him busy. Tell jokes, protest…whatever. But don't say anything that's worth a damn."

Cody looked down, taking in the sight of his now fidgeting fingers, feeling ill at ease. He wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what. "So none of this is going to help…ever? I should just keep on resisting…even if I do someday want to talk?" He sounded so pathetic. So meager. He was almost surprised by his own voice.

It was rather peculiar that, in Dr. Thompson's office, he had been so sure of himself—so sure that he did not want to be there, in that position, with that man who was practically begging him to crack and confide—but now he was hesitant. A little fearful even. And Cody suspected that George may have had a little something to do with that. After all, George had told him that the price was of refusing therapy was a life contained within asylum walls, which Cody couldn't even begin to grasp. He'd been aware of what he would have to give in order to get out of that place. But still, it had been easy to defy his doctor.

_You have a hold on me, George. I barely know you and, already, you have a hold on me. I don't know how this happened. Perhaps, subconsciously, I felt I needed you. Perhaps you just know people too well and I was drawn to that. Either way, I doubt you did this on purpose. And I know I didn't. But nonetheless, I am slowly modeling myself in your image. _

_I've never been a rebel before, George. It felt good earlier, in that room, with my doctor. I have to admit, it felt free. But I'm scared. I'm used to rules. I'm used to authority. I feel naked without it._

"That's right," George answered him. When he saw that Cody looked rather down about that, he went further by saying, "In the end, it's not real. All those illnesses they put on paper…all those disorders they turn to…they don't define who you are. They just exist so that rich, college-educated bigots sitting behind desks can make sense of the world. But, I promise you, they don't mean jack shit. All that matters is what you think of yourself. You can be the craziest person on Earth—a total fuckin' psycho—but if you think you're a good person, then you're a good person…if only just as far as you're concerned."

In his own little insensitive way, he was trying to make Cody feel better. And Cody knew it. However, he didn't succeed.

"But, people slam you if they don't agree with you," he pointed out. "It's dangerous to think you're good in a world that thinks you're bad…or crazy. We don't deal the cards, George. We just receive them."

"The world doesn't play the game for you, Cody. It doesn't live your life. You do. And living's not the same thing as just fuckin' standing there and breathing—living's what you make it. It's a blank canvas and you've got to paint it. You've got to _make _your life, Cody."

_I think I know why you say that, George. You had to mentally construct your own life when you were younger, cause the life you were given was harsh. You weren't dealt good cards, so you told yourself that you had to stack the deck. Your canvas was painted black and you didn't like that, so you told yourself it was really red in disguise. _

For the first time since Cody met George, George gave him an earnest expression. "You gotta shape it in your image…cause when you do that, no one else can touch it."

At that very moment, the metal door to their room opened and a nurse—frizzy-haired Nurse Richards—peaked her head in. "Cody Martin," she said, "you have visitors."

…

When Kurt pulled up to the front of Fairoaks Asylum, a vast sense of dread overtook him and seemed to spread to Carey and Zack. They had all decided to travel to Fairoaks together, in one car, because they were all going to the same place…for the same reason.

It was visiting day. And they were there to see Cody.

The assortment of buildings the place contained was daunting. The roofing was high-peaked, the walls were made of brick, the windows were all barred—all in all, it looked rather like something out of an old, classic horror story. The fortress where the ghost of a murdered person resided.

Kurt's fingers were trembling on the steering wheel. "We ready to do this?" he asked, his voice shaking a little. He was going to see his son in an asylum—a place where he'd never thought his son would end up. When fathers think of visiting their sons in the future, they generally think of college, and homes, and work places. Not asylums. Definitely not them.

"Yes," Zack replied. His breathing was unsteady but he managed to sound more calm than he really was.

_I'm going to see Cody...and I have no idea what I'm going to say. But I know I want to see him. I at least know that much._

"Of course," Carey added. It was nearly the first time she spoke since Cody was taken away in the first place. "We need to see him."

Together, as if in one fluid motion, all three of them got out of the car.

…

The front door, which was typically kept locked, was kept unlocked during visiting hours. That way, nurses didn't have to constantly be locking and unlocking the door for people to come in and see their families. When Kurt, Carey, and Zack walked up to the front desk—a huge window at the far end of the room—in the unexpectedly homey lobby, they were greeted by a woman with a high cheek-boned face and skin that appeared to be unnaturally expanded. According to a plaque situated before them, her name was Margaret O'Donnell. She smiled at them, the edges of her lips creating curved lines on her cheeks. "Visitors?" she asked.

"Yeah," Kurt said. "We're here to see Cody Martin."

Margaret typed in something on a computer she was sitting at, and then picked up a phone and dialed an extension. "Dr. Thompson?" she said into it. "This is Margaret. Yes, Cody Martin's family is here to see him. Could you send a nurse to his room to go get him and bring to the visiting area? Thank you very much."

She put the phone down and then turned back toward the three anxious people in front of her. "The visiting area is practically directly behind this room. If you go through this door"—the gestured toward a door on the left—"and go down the hallway, and then make a quick right at the sign that says 'Visiting Area' with an arrow next to it, you can't miss it. There's a sign on the door and a big table inside. It looks like a board room."

"Er, thanks," Kurt said, unsure.

"If you have any problem finding it, just come back in here and I'll get someone to walk you down there."

Kurt went over to the door, opened it, let Carey and Zack step through first, and then closed it behind himself. They found themselves in a fluorescent-lighted hallway, and immediately began walking.

The visiting room wasn't hard to find. The main hallway branched off into another at the right, and there was a black sign on the wall next to it with the words "Visiting Area" on it, along with an arrow pointing to that secondary hallway. They all went down it until they came upon the room that the reception lady, Margaret O'Donnell, had described.

When they went in, they sat and waited patiently for Cody, all the while trying to subdue their anxiousness and think of what they were going to say to him when he arrived.

Cody was brought in four minutes later. He didn't really look like himself. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was messy, with split ends. And of course, there was the outfit he was wearing—the plain, white, pajama-like uniform that sagged on his body pitifully. To top it off was the bracelet—a strip of paper wrapped around his wrist claiming that he belonged where he was.

At first sight of his brother, Zack felt unnerved. He knew it was Cody he was looking at, but there was a part of him that was not willing to believe it. Then, as if a torrent came out of nowhere and engulfed him, he found himself struck with heartache.

_My God, Cody, what has this place done to you_?

Kurt was the first one to stand up, followed by Carey. Zack stood up last. He lagged behind his parents, but kept his eyes firmly on Cody. He watched attentively as Kurt and Carey both hugged their second son tightly and tried to hide the grief in their voices as they asked him questions like how he was, if he'd eaten properly, if he'd gotten enough sleep the night before, and if his room was comfortable enough. Cody did nothing except nod and occasionally mutter a "yes." Zack knew he was lying; he could always tell when Cody was dishonest. But he didn't say anything. He remained silent.

After a good two or three minutes, Carey acknowledged Zack. "Zack, don't you want to say hi to your brother?" she asked. Clearly, it bothered her that Zack hadn't done anything but stand and stare since Cody came in.

But Zack couldn't help it. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He had to admit, seeing Cody gave him immense relief. But that was the only thing he was certain about. So, to make his mother happy, he slightly turned up a corner of his mouth to create a smile and said, "Hi Cody." As soon as the words were out, he wanted to smack himself in the head. They'd sounded so awkward.

"Hi Zack," Cody answered, just as uneasily.

His voice made Zack want to cry. Involuntarily, tears began to prick his eyes. _Breathe, breathe. Don't cry now. Show Cody that you're strong. Breathe, just breathe. Don't show him how crushed you are; don't show him that you're destroyed. Hold it in and be brave. _

Zack suddenly realized something: he needed to speak to his brother alone.

Zack gave his parents a whole ten minutes with Cody before bringing up the question he knew he had to bring up. When he did, it came out sounding firm and resolute. "Mom, Dad, could I please have a moment alone with Cody?"

His parents seemed unsure about that idea. "I don't know, Zack," Kurt replied. "I mean, we came here as a family. I think it best if we stay here as a family."

"Look, I understand that," Zack returned, which was true. He did understand; he understood that his father had driven all the way there to spend some quality time—if this could even be called quality time—with his depressed son. Plus, his father was worried that if he left Zack alone with Cody, Zack might do something he'd regret later. After that episode at the kitchen table the day before, there was no telling what he was capable of. Nevertheless, Zack was adamant. "Really, I get it. But I need to have a moment with him. It's…it's important." He gazed at his father pleadingly. "Please," he added.

Kurt looked down for a second, taking in Zack's request. Then he turned to Carey and asked, "Is it alright with you?" Carey seemed less than willing, but she nodded.

They both looked at Cody, who said nothing and shrugged. They took that as a "yes" and walked out the door, leaving their sons alone together.

For a while, neither of the boys spoke. They just stood across from each other, statuesque except for their breathing. Then, suddenly, as if drawn by instinct, Zack approached Cody and enclosed him in a tight embrace. He still needed to be careful because of Cody's heart surgery, but the longer he held on, the tighter his grip became. His hug was like that of a drowning man, desperately trying to survive. Clinging onto something that could keep him above surface.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed Cody. Kisses had practically been nonexistent when they were younger—more so than hugs. And that was saying something because hugs were few and far in between. But he kissed Cody now. He turned his head and kissed his cheek, twice, and it didn't feel strange in the least. He still didn't consciously know what he wanted to say, but he didn't have to; his words escaped him without his awareness. "You don't have to lie to me, Cody," he said, his voice nearly a half sob. "I know why you lied to Mom and Dad, but you don't have to lie to me. This place sucks, doesn't it? I can tell it sucks. How have they treated you here? Have they hurt you? Are you on drugs now? Oh God…what have I done? I let you get sent to this place. I could have bailed you out. I could have stood up for you…but I didn't. I thought this would be good for you…I thought it was what you needed. But I was wrong. I'm _so _sorry!"

Cody knew that Zack was right. Every word he said was right. But it was still painful to hear him say it—still heart-breaking to hear the crack in his voice. The remorse. "It's okay, Zack," Cody told him, as convincingly as he could manage. "You didn't do anything wrong. I get it. I understand why you let them put me here. You were angry, and you were confused. You had every right to be."

"How can you be so okay with it?" Zack asked in devastation. "How can you not hate me?"

"I could never hate you, Zack," Cody assured him. "Not for real." That was honesty in its purest form. Cody had been angry at Zack for allowing him to be sent to Fairoaks; he'd planned on telling Zack just how offended he was about the whole thing, and asking him what he'd been thinking in the first place. But now he couldn't. Everything had changed. Zack wasn't going on and on about how good and helpful this asylum was like Cody had expected him to. And he wasn't gloating either. Zack felt guilty. If he was feeling anything it was hatred towards himself.

Cody didn't fully understand why, but he felt he had to counteract that hatred with love.

Cody turned his face and kissed Zack on the cheek in return. Gradually, they pulled apart. Zack's face looked uncomfortable.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"Don't be," responded Cody. He beckoned over to the table at their side. "You wanna sit down?"

"Yeah."

They sat down and took a moment to stare at each other quietly, both analyzing their situation.

_Here you are, _thought Cody. _I've missed you so badly and now, here you are, right in front of me. Strangely enough, even though I just touched you, you feel like a mirage to me. Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks, but I can't ignore this fear. I'm afraid that the moment I turn my eyes away from you, you'll disappear. I'd like to tell you this, Zack…but I won't because it'd probably sound crazy to you. And I'm trying to convince you that I'm sane._

_I'm not entirely sure I am, but I don't want to stay here. I want out. I want to go home…wherever home is. I don't even know anymore. But nevertheless, home could be anywhere other than here _

_Oh man, Cody,_ thought Zack._ What's happened to you_? _I know you're you, but I can't make myself believe it. I think, in the long run, what it boils down to is shame. I look at you and I see an image that should be someone else. This isn't you, Cody. You're not the loony sitting here in white pajamas, with tangled hair and bags that resemble bruises beneath your eyes. At least, you're not supposed to be. You're supposed to be the bright-eyed, overly clean, college student—a know-it-all with ideas and plans, and a sure future. The nerd I'm proud to call my brother._

_Underneath it all, the real problem is hatred. But not hatred towards you. I thought it might be hatred towards you at first…which is why I have this whole other identity now. This "new" Zack living inside me. But now I realize, the hatred I feel is all for me. Just for me, Cody. It's my punishment for not being a good brother to you. _

Cody was the one who finally broke the silence. "So I assume you're staying with Mom and Dad now?"

"Yeah," Zack said. "We're staying at the Tipton."

"That's…heart-warming, I guess."

"We didn't do it because we wanted to. We just had nowhere else to go. We wanted to stay together, you know? To work through…all this." Zack and Cody both grimaced at that, but Zack continued. "And the Tipton just ended up being our best bet."

Cody nodded.

"I emailed Bailey," Zack blurted out. He wasn't originally going to tell Cody that, but he figured, why not? He thought maybe Cody should know about it. After all, Bailey might decide to come and see him. "I told her everything."

Cody didn't seem too pleased with the notion of his ex-girlfriend knowing about his current issues; but at the same time, he didn't exactly seem upset. "What did she say?" he wanted to know.

"I haven't checked my emails yet. I assume she'll be pissed…and shocked."

Cody's eyes shifted downward toward the table top. He pretended to be interested in the dark lines of mahogany running along its surface as humiliation grabbed a hold of him.

Zack had not wanted to reminisce over the negative things. Especially since the last time he saw his little brother, he'd lost his temper. He'd wanted to keep the shadows—the demons—in the back of his mind and just focus on Cody's well-being. But he could no longer do that. The new Zack was trying to share the driver's seat with the old, and he had to succumb to his wishes. They were too powerful to disregard. "I still don't understand what you've done," he told Cody tensely. "I just…I can't…"

"You'll never understand it, Zack," Cody interjected. "We established that days ago, in that recovery room. You'll never understand it and you'll most likely never forgive it." He kept his eyes firmly on the table as he spoke.

Zack took an unsteady breath. Part of him wanted to curse the new Zack for doing this—for reverting back to the past instead of focusing on the future. For being cold. However, at the same time, he had to thank him because the old Zack would not have been able to do that…and it had to be done. Sooner rather than later.

The new Zack was not the only one in control though. The old one was there too, taking charge when he could. "Look, Cody…I'm sorry I yelled at you in the recovery room. And I'm sorry I let you get sent here. Really, I am. But, Jesus man, you scared me to death!"

"I know, Zack. I know."

"How did you expect me to react? I come home and find my little brother on the floor of my room…_dying_." His voice broke at the last word. "Dying right in front of me, and I don't even know if I can save him. How did you expect me to feel?" Zack looked at Cody desperately, craving any kind of clarification. "What were you thinking? It couldn't have been all about that bitch. I know you too well for that. What was going on, man?"

Now Cody went on the defense. It wasn't rebellious defense, despite a twinge of indignation arising within him. It was simple explanation. "I was thinking I despised the world, Zack. I despised it and I wanted to show it that it didn't own me."

"So you were willing to break the hearts of everyone who loved you?"

"I didn't _want _to. That was the hardest decision I had to make. I would never want to hurt you, Zack. You or anyone else. But I figured I had no choice. I had to…free myself."

"_Free_ yourself? Free yourself from what?"

"From everything. Everything."

Zack shook his head, confused beyond measure. "Okay, so you wanted to free yourself. And…you thought death was the only way to do that?"

Cody thought before answering. This was a question he'd asked himself multiple times, both before and after his attempted suicide. It came down to one thing—one debatable concept. "Why is death so horrible, Zack?" he asked, his gaze finally turning away from the table and meeting Zack's.

Zack appeared as though Cody had just stabbed him. "Because it's…it's…well, you know…it's death." Despite how easy to answer that question would seem, Zack found that he had a hard time answering it. "It's when…you're not here anymore."

"What's so bad about not being here anymore?"

"Here is…good, more or less. I mean, it's better than being in the ground dead."

"How? Death is only painful once, and then it's over. The pain doesn't last…not like in life. Life is crueler than death, Zack."

"That may be true." Cody was astonished to hear Zack say that. So was Zack. But no later than he said those words did he realize he meant them. Taking into account all the pain he'd been enduring lately, he reasoned that death couldn't be half as excruciating. "But it still doesn't give you free reign to take your own life," he added. "That's just selfish."

"Why is it selfish to want to put an end to pain?"

"Because it'll only cause _more _pain!" Once again, Zack's eyes welled with tears. He managed to hold them back, but it was nearly impossible. They blurred his vision and stung like needles. And he knew Cody could see them. "Do you have _any_ idea how devastated we've been over all this bullshit? Mom, and Dad, and me—we've been miserable! No, scratch that. Miserable's not the right word. I don't even know what the right word is because I've never seen, or felt, this much pain before. I didn't even think this much pain existed! I wish you could have seen us after you left! We're…we're not even the same people anymore. Mom does nothing but lie around, Dad's completely silent, and I'm totally confused!" A tear spilled over and he wiped it away before it made a trail down his cheek. "I'm so fucking confused and I can't figure anything out anymore! Nothing makes sense like it used to! I thought I knew things—I thought I knew _you_—but evidently I don't!"

"Zack, please," Cody pleaded, empathy and guilt overwhelming him. "Don't do this to yourself."

"Why not?" Zack spat back, remembering that his father had said the same thing to him the day before. "Is it any worse than what you did to _your_self?"

From behind them, the door to the Visiting Area opened and Carey and Kurt peaked their heads in. "Are you guys done talking?" asked Kurt. "Cause visiting time is going to be over soon, and your mom and I wanted to spend some more time with Cody."

"Yeah," Zack said, standing up. "Yeah, we're done." He turned around and headed towards the door. "I think I'm going to wait in the hall till it's time to leave."

"Sweetie, are you sure?" Carey looked disappointed.

"I'm sure," Zack told her.

Before he was out the door, he heard Cody say his name…rather loudly. He wasn't entirely certain if he wanted to hear what he had to say, but since his parents were watching, he turned back around and took one last look at Cody, who stared at him earnestly and said, "I love you."

A lump formed in Zack's throat but he gulped it down. "I love you too, man."

As Zack crossed the threshold of the doorway, a realization came to him: this was exactly how he'd left Cody the night before he shot himself.

…

When Cody's family returned to the Tipton, Zack immediately said he needed some time alone. Kurt initially was going to protest against that, but he thought twice. Seeing Cody had been both uplifting and emotionally straining for all of them, and Kurt was totally unaware of what his sons had talked about when they were alone. "Okay," he said, "whatever you need."

Nevertheless, he felt a pang of worry as he watched Zack grab his laptop and head out the door of 2330. He had no idea where he was going, or what he was going to do, and flashbacks of what happened the day before, at the kitchen table, filled his head. _Please Zack…don't do anything that'll hurt me more. _

Zack came down to the lobby and then walked out the front door of the hotel. He sat himself on the front steps, where his jeans were in the sun but his head and torso were shielded by the hotel's overhanging green sign. He placed his laptop on his lap, opened it, and turned it on. Luckily, the entire building, including the perimeter around it, had wireless connection. He was going to check his emails.

There were two new ones. One was from his boss, Mr. Hayman, telling him that since his work hadn't been the best lately, he should take a few days off to deal with whatever issues he was having. The other was from Bailey.

He held his breath as he clicked on it and read its contents:

_Zack,_

_Oh my god! Are you serious? I can't believe it! I just don't believe it! How could Cody do this? He had to have known what it would do to us. Is he so stupid that he wouldn't realize how hurt we'd be without him? How are Carey and Kurt? I bet they're devastated. Does anyone else know? Moseby? London? Maddie? Are you okay, Zack? _

_Don't apologize. I'd want you to be honest with me about something like this. Oh Zack, I feel so bad for you. Cody told me you hated his girlfriend. He told me you didn't want him to date her in the first place but he didn't listen. If only he'd listened! But it can't just be her, can it? I know Cody and he's not the type to lose it like this. Is there something else?_

_Anyway, as soon as I can find a flight to Boston, I'm leaving. I'm coming over there and talking to Cody. I think he needs me. I think he needs all of us. Will I be able to visit him in the asylum? Oh, who cares? I'll break down the door if I have to._

_See you soon, Zack. _

_Bailey_

So Bailey was coming. Zack wondered when he'd see her. He wondered what she'd say to Cody.

One thing in her email that caught his attention was the part where she said that Cody needed all of them. It was completely true. After seeing Cody in the asylum, he knew he'd made a mistake. As did the doctors.

_What was the name of that doctor who referred Cody to Fairoaks_? Zack couldn't remember his name. It wasn't the woman doctor, he knew that; it was the man. The one who was in charge. But he just could not recall the name.

Suddenly, Zack heard his dad's voice come from behind him. "Zack?" he said.

As Zack turned around, Kurt took a seat beside him on the steps. "I thought we agreed I needed some time alone," Zack pointed out.

"I know," Kurt admitted. "We did. I'm sorry. I just…couldn't help it."

Zack was fully aware of what his dad meant by that. "You were worried about me, weren't you?"

Kurt didn't answer. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Zack's shoulders and gently nuzzled him.

Zack decided he should tell his dad about Bailey's arrival. He didn't know when exactly she would show up. "Guess what?" he said. "I emailed Bailey. I told her about Cody, and she says she's coming out here to visit."

Kurt didn't seem displeased. But he was rather astonished. "Really? Do you think that's wise?"

"I think so," Zack told him. "Cody could use all the support he can get. Maybe, if Bailey's here, he can get his mind off of…you know. Not that I think she's the real reason for what he did. But still…it might help."

Kurt nodded. "I think you're right." He stood up. "Well, I suppose I should go tell your mother, and Mr. Moseby."

"Dad?" Zack said before his dad walked back in.

"Yeah?"

"What was the name of the doctor who referred Cody to Fairoaks?"

"Dr. Maps. Why?"

Zack shrugged. "Just curious."

Kurt nodded again, and then disappeared into the lobby.

_Maps. That was the name, _thought Zack._ Dr. Maps. _He took another glance at Bailey's email, then logged out and turned his computer off. He'd come to an abrupt, final resolution: he was going to go back to the hospital and talk to Dr. Maps.


	11. Chapter 11

**Here is chapter 11. It's shorter than the previous chapter, but still rather long. Anyway…Dr. Maps is back!**

**I know I haven't been putting in disclaimers lately, but everyone knows I own absolutely nothing except the OCs. And speaking of OCs—about the girl that Zack meets at the hospital, she's not significant or anything; I just wanted to have fun with her character. I like adding horny characters.**

"Well, well," George said when the metal door closed behind Cody. "Your third day here and already you've got visitors."

"Yeah," Cody said, "my family came to see me. It wasn't exactly a happy reunion though. Zack and I got into an argument."

George seemed to understand. "Over why you're here?" he asked.

"Yeah." Cody sighed and plopped down on his bed. He wasn't in a good mood, but at the same time, he wasn't really angry. Agitated maybe? On edge? It hadn't been his idea to have a fight with Zack. Zack was the one who started it. And for what? It wasn't like they discussed anything they didn't go over back in that hospital recovery room.

But wait, something _had _been different. A minor detail that was very important.

_We argued about death. _

And what on Earth led to that? He couldn't even remember. All he could recall was asking why death was so bad. Wasn't it just the opposite of life? Wasn't it destined for everyone? Yes, it was. Everyone died eventually. Life came in a cycle; some called it "the circle of life." Death was simply the other end of the spectrum.

"But that doesn't give you free reign to take your own life. That's just selfish."—that's what Zack had said in return. But…why not? All around, people died by natural causes. Diseases. Accidents. Old age. With the occasional murder. Why was it so selfish to want to pick your own death, on your own terms, when you felt ready to go?

_Because, you moron, you don't decide when you go. What you think is best for you isn't always what's best for others—for the ones you love. Shouldn't they be your priority? There are people in the world who would love to commit suicide but never do, only because of how it would affect their loved ones. They have the ability to think of what's good for the many, rather than just what's good for them. Why can't you do the same? _

_And besides, sometimes what's not the best for your loved ones really isn't what's best for you either. It's a sad and curious truth that we often confuse what we wish for with what is._

_Why does this confusion happen? The answer's simple—pain. Pain is the offset of confusion. You've gone through plenty of it. Even more than you know. But does being confused offer an excuse for doing the wrong thing? That right there is where we get into the unsolvable problems._

"You know something, Cody?" George said from across the room, bringing Cody out of his stupor. "I've been here just short of three years and I've never had a visitor."

Cody considered that. Three years? With no visitors? Not that that was surprising, given George's history. But, nonetheless, Cody was overcome with empathy for him. "That's sad, George. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. It's not shocking news or anything."

"I'm still sorry, George."

"Why?" George looked—quite possibly for the first time—genuinely perplexed.

"Because…I'm your friend. It's my job to sympathize with you."

"And I suppose you want me to do the same for you?"

"No. You don't have to. Friends don't ask for anything in return. At least, real friends don't."

George thought about that for a moment before saying anything. When he spoke, it was with perfect insight and clarity. "You know what, Cody? You're the first real friend I've had."

A twenty-three-year-old who's never had any real friends, and doesn't know the meaning of real friendship? "That's sad, too," Cody told him. "And I'm sorry."

…………

When Zack looked through the windshield of his car at the hospital where Cody had been taken all those days ago—days that felt more like years—he couldn't help but feel that it looked smaller than it had the last time he saw it. It still towered over any other building within a block's distance, rising into the sky by a good thirteen stories or so, but it still looked smaller than it had before. There was a large section of it that was windowed by glass panels on which the sunlight was reflecting, and two thick columns stood at each side of the front doors. The building itself shown a familiar rusty red that made people assume it was older than it really was. It looked the same, but also different. Strangely different. When Zack drove up to it, he was hit by a sense of aching in his chest. _This is where I almost lost Cody. This place…this is where he died on an ER bed and somehow got brought back. This is where we waited for him to either pull through or give up. Where I prayed for him, only because I didn't know what else to do. Where his chest had to get sliced open and a bullet—one of my own—had to get taken out. Where I ran to him, and cried for him, and ranted and fumed, and then left him to get sent to a mental institution. _

_This place is a catalyst for Cody's life. It's the place where he and I were united after tragedy, but then emotionally fell apart. _

The front parking lot was completely full. Zack had to drive around to the back of the building and park along the outer edge of the rear lot, next to a large bush. On his other side was a pick-up truck that he soon realized was parked a little too close for comfort when he opened his door and tried to get out. Nothing collided, but it was a tight squeeze.

The inside of the hospital brought back a dizzying sequence of memories in Zack's mind. The white walls, the comings and goings of random people, the smell, the blue chairs where people sat and waited—all of it was nauseating. He had to remind himself continuously to stay calm and act casual. It wouldn't do any good for him to have a fainting spell—or something else of the like—right then and there. His parents already had one son to worry about. They sure as hell didn't need to worry about the other.

Slowly, Zack walked up to the front desk in the room he'd stepped inside (it wasn't the front lobby because he'd went in through the back of the building). There was a girl sitting behind it—a young girl who looked as though she'd barely gotten out of high school. She had reddish-blonde hair that was tied into a sloppy bun, and an angular face peppered with freckles; her eyes were a deep green and she had a stud going through her bottom lip. Her attention was focused intently on an opened notebook that she had on the desk in front of her, and she was mindlessly chewing on a wad of bubble gum as she read its contents. When Zack approached her and said "Excuse me, miss?" she flashed an annoyed look in his direction that instantly vanished once she actually saw him.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked. Then quietly added, "Please?"

"I need to see someone," Zack told her matter-of-factly. "A Dr. Maps?"

"What business do you have with him?"

"He was my brother's doctor," Zack didn't feel comfortable talking about this. Least of all, to a young girl he just met. But he reasoned that he had to if he wanted to see Dr. Maps. They didn't drag doctors out of their schedules for nothing. "My brother had surgery recently, and he was in charge of it. I really, really need to see him. It's important."

The girl turned from him to a computer that was situated on the right-hand side of the desk, next to her notebook, and typed something into it. She was a really fast typist.

_Probably got a lot of practice from texting_, Zack thought to himself, but he didn't say anything.

Her eyes scanned over whatever was on the screen, and then looked back at him. "He's with a patient right now and he won't be free for another hour or so. You want to wait that long?"

Zack nodded. "I'll wait as long as I have to," he replied firmly. He wasn't leaving until he got to see Dr. Maps; he'd already made his mind up about that.

"Well okay, then." The girl pointed over to a row of chairs behind him that were up against the far wall. "Have a seat and I'll let him know that you're here to see him. By the way, what's your name?"

"Zack Martin."

The girl grinned dreamily. Her eyes took him in. "That's a nice name," she said sweetly. "Zack Martin." She repeated it slowly, making it sound sophisticated.

"Yeah," Zack told her simply. "Zack Martin. That's me. Please don't forget to tell Dr. Maps about me."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I won't, I promise." Then, unexpectedly, she grinned mischievously at him and gradually leaned over the table, blowing a giant bubble directly in front of his face. Zack bent his head back, flabbergasted, but she pushed herself even closer to him. "Ya know," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, "Now that I think of it, an hour is a long time to spend just sitting. If you're going to be hanging around here for that long, I could keep you company. You and me—we could go into the file room right down the hall and have ourselves some fun. No one ever goes in there, and I've got the keys. I could lock the door and we could be really quiet. Nobody'll ever know, I swear." She touched her index finger to his chest and seductively ran it down his stomach, stopping when it grazed the button on his jeans.

Zack stepped back, out of her reach. "Are you crazy?" he gasped.

"Quite possibly," the girl said gleefully. She blew another bubble with her gum. "More importantly, I'm totally turned on right now. By you." She rested her chin upon the palm of her hand and slightly tilted her head, putting on an adorable, innocent pose. "I think you're hot."

_She's…blunt. I supposed that's the right word to describe her._

"And I wanna fuck you. Now."

_Definitely blunt. _Zack stared at her for a long moment. This was certainly unexpected, to say the least. Zack didn't know what to do. Doing what she wanted was out of the question, of course; there was no way in hell that he was going to do that. But even so, what was he supposed to do? Despite how much he chased after girls when he was younger (which he did quite frequently), and hopelessly wished for some of them to show an interest in him, he was completely thrown off guard by this. He'd never had a girl he didn't even know the name of come on to him like this. It was bizarre. Finally, he opted to laugh. And so that's what he did. He looked at the girl seriously for a while and then burst out laughing in her face. He didn't know what possessed him to do that. It wasn't like this was funny, exactly. He just did it because he could.

The girl, totally confused by his choice of action, laughed too…mostly because she didn't know how else to react. What do you do when you come on to someone, and that someone just laughs at you? Do you cry? Do you get angry? Or do you laugh too? She chose to laugh too, and so both of them just laughed together. They laughed for longer than they thought was necessary. People began to stare at them and whisper amongst themselves, marveling at what could be so funny. Oddly enough, even _they_ didn't know. What they were laughing at, neither of them had any clue. They only knew that they couldn't help themselves. Laughter is rather addictive; once you start, it can be very difficult to stop. Even if you don't know why you started in the first place.

Part of the reason why Zack couldn't stop was because this was the first time he'd laughed in a long time. The first time in days. In well over a week. It was the first time he'd heard so much as a chuckle come out of his mouth since he'd almost lost his brother. And as soon as he heard it, he wanted it more. He was desperate for it. Before Cody's incident, he'd been a happy person—a jokester. But worry and heartbreak—not to mention the creation of the "new" Zack—had destroyed all of that. Laughter seemed to be a distant memory to him. A ghost in his closet. Zack even got to the point where he couldn't remember what his laugh sounded like. A side of him had died—or perhaps had become dormant—and, for a while, there was nothing he could do to revive it. He didn't realize how much he missed that side of him until he allowed himself to let it out. It was for a foolish reason, he was well aware of that. But he didn't care. At least he got to see it again.

Eventually, he did stop laughing though. He remembered his purpose for coming there and felt guilty. _You're here for your brother's sake, _he told himself disdainfully._ That's it. You're here to get Dr. Maps to have Cody released and that's no laughing matter. _

Seeing that he had stopped laughing, the girl stopped also. However, that devious smile did not go away. "So," she urged, "what do you say? To the file room?"

"No, thanks," Zack told her. "I'm just going to take a seat in one of those blue chairs over there and wait."

The girl was disappointed. "What? Why not?"

"Because I don't know you…and I think you're crazy."

The girl crossed her arms, her lips turning downward into a pouting face. "Why do people think it's crazy for a girl to want to fuck a guy, but when a guy wants to fuck a girl, it's perfectly fine? If she wants it, she's neurotic or pushy, but if he wants it, he's king of the fucking world."

Zack didn't answer. Personally, he thought it was crazy for anyone—regardless of sex—to want to get that intimate with a complete stranger.

Finally, the girl just waved him away. "Just go," she demanded. "Have a seat and I'll contact Dr. Maps."

"Thank you," Zack told her. Then he turned around, found an empty blue chair, and sat down.

…………

It was over an hour before Dr. Maps came strolling into the room that Zack had been waiting in. He was still wearing his latex gloves and his appearance was less than comforting. He had dark rings under his eyes and his auburn hair was somewhat matted; he looked as though he'd been working all night.

_Maybe he has, _Zack mentally stated. Initially, Zack's plan had been to give this doctor a piece of his mind. He was prepared to shout, and to curse, and to make commands if he had to. But seeing this man so weary now rendered that plan impossible. "Dr. Maps, I presume?" Zack said, standing up to face him. He only said that as a formality; he knew full well that this man was Dr. Maps. He recognized him.

Dr. Maps diligently removed his latex gloves and tossed them into the nearest trash can, which happened to be next to the front desk. Then he came towards Zack and extended his hand. Zack took it, forcing himself to smile. Even though he'd been laughing earlier, seeing Dr. Maps made smiling almost hurt. It brought back memories that stabbed at his unhealed wounds.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Martin," Dr. Maps greeted.

"So you do remember me?" Zack figured it was a good idea to make absolutely sure that they were on the same page. That way, any needless confusion could be avoided.

"Of course," Dr. Maps replied, a little offended.

"Sorry, but I didn't know if you'd be able to recognize me. I reckon you see a lot of new faces…on a daily basis."

"I do, but I'd never forget you. Your brother was my miracle patient."

"Miracle patient?"

"Yes. He flat-lined in the ER and didn't wake up until we'd already declared him dead. Typically when a patient dies, they stay that way. Not your brother though. Deep down, he must have wanted to live."

Zack's throat closed and his stomach tingled as flashbacks of sitting in a waiting room, listening to his mother cry and his father comfort and his own heart scream, popped into his mind. _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't think about that. Don't think about what could have happened. Think about what did happen. He woke up. That's what matters in the end—the fact that he did wake up. _Zack wanted to speak. He wanted to tell Dr. Maps that he hoped, with every piece of his heart and soul, that he was right. That Cody really did want to live, on some subconscious level. But he couldn't. His throat wouldn't open up; any words that managed to come out of him would have been broken, and very likely inaudible.

"You know what's interesting?" Dr. Maps continued. He had this distant look on his face—as though he was deep in thought. "I never believed in miracles until your brother came along. I've been working here a long time, and I've seen some pretty amazing things. I've seen some close calls. But what happened with your brother…I have _never _seen anything like that before. That was beyond words."

Zack swallowed, regaining his speaking ability. "I prayed for him," he said. He blurted it out before he could stop himself. "When I was in the waiting room, I wanted to do something…cause it was killing me that I couldn't do anything to help him, you know? I didn't want to just sit there and wait. So I prayed. I've never really been religious. I don't go to church or anything. But I prayed anyway, just because I could…and just because it seemed like it was my only option. And, funny enough, right afterward that doctor—I forget her name—"

"Dr. Lee," Dr. Maps told him.

"Dr. Lee—she came to us and told us that he was alive. I'd never been so relieved in my life."

Zack gave Dr. Maps a quizzical expression. "Do you think God had something to do with it? Like, do you think that, maybe, he heard me?"

"I don't know," Dr. Maps answered. "I don't exactly believe in God. Just miracles. I think there may be some things in this world that we can't explain."

There was a moment of silence between the two of them. During that moment, they stared at each other and tried to assess what the other was thinking. What the other believed. Then Dr. Maps shifted his eyes toward the door and asked, "Do you want to go outside? Today's a nice day and I've been cooped up in here for too many hours."

"Sure," Zack said. He hated the inside of that place anyway.

So they went outside and stood against the wall of the building, gazing out at the back parking lot, feeling the sunlight kiss their skin.

"How's your brother doing?" Dr. Maps seemed genuinely concerned about that.

Zack lowered his head. He did not want to admit this, but he had to because it was what he'd come there for. "Not good," he said sullenly. "I think he still wants to die. Or, at least, part of him does. I visited him yesterday and we talked about death."

"I don't think that was a very smart thing to do," Dr. Maps said in disapproval. "I'm no psychiatrist or anything, but I would think that when someone's depressed, talking about death wouldn't be too wise."

Zack felt a twinge of indignation over being cornered. "Speaking of things that aren't wise," he snapped, "Fairoaks isn't helping him. I think you made a mistake in sending him there."

"What makes you say that?" Dr. Maps wasn't bothered by Zack's tone. If anything, he was only curious as to what he meant.

"When I saw Cody, he looked terrible. He looked half-dead. I swear, they're not taking proper care of him. And I don't know how he's been treated. For all I know, they just keep him doped up all day and locked in a room the size of a jail cell."

Dr. Maps sucked in his upper lip, considering this. "Did he say anything about Fairoaks? Did he mention anything, specifically, that he didn't like?"

"Well, no, but…" Zack paused, unable to go on. He and Cody hadn't spoken about Fairoaks at all. Zack had automatically assumed that it was an awful place, judging by the looks of Cody, but that was all. They'd been too busy conversing—arguing, more like—about the appropriateness, or lack thereof, of suicide. And not to mention, Zack had been dealing with his old self and his new self trying to share the driver's seat of his mind. "I just know, okay?" That was the best response he could give. "Don't ask me how I know; just believe that I do. I know that place isn't good for him. I'm his brother. I know what he needs!"

"Fair enough," Dr. Maps gave in, respectfully. "Well, what would you say he needs?"

Zack didn't have to think before answering that question. "Me. He needs me. And our parents. And our friends. He needs the people who love him."

"I see." Suddenly, Dr. Maps looked doubtful. "And I suppose you came here to get me to have him released."

Zack folded his arms over his chest, willing to take the defense if he had to. "That's right," he said, in a challenging tone. "You put him there, you get him out."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Not by myself."

"Why not?" Now Zack's tone had a hint of a threat in it.

"He's in the custody of the Fairoaks staff. Only they have the power to release him."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why don't you? You're a doctor."

"Yes, but I'm not a psychiatrist. I only know the parts of the body. The state of the mind—that's not my field. That's their field. If they feel he's unable to rejoin society and resume life, no matter what I say, they'll keep him. So long as he's with them, he's their property."

"He's not property!" Zack retorted. "He's a human being!"

"I know, I know. Property was the wrong word. I'm sorry. It's just…what I meant was, he's under their supervision. The issue of whether or not he'll be released will be determined by their evaluation of him. By _their_ judgment."

"But they don't know him! And he won't trust them! They won't get anything out of him!"

Dr. Maps gazed at Zack inquiringly. "Just out of curiosity, where is this coming from? Before he left this hospital, you seemed to think it was a good idea for him to go to Fairoaks. Why this change of opinion?"

Zack hesitated before replying. He wasn't entirely sure what had changed him. All he knew was that after he saw his little brother in Fairoaks, he'd been overcome with guilt. The image of him made his heart sink. Plus, before his visit, he'd missed him tremendously. He'd cried himself to sleep, and shouted at his father, and sent an email to his brother's ex-girlfriend—all because he'd been feeling vulnerable from the separation. Because he didn't know what to feel if his twin brother was not safe and secure. And because his emotions and his identity felt like they no longer belonged to him. "I sort of had an epiphany," he finally confessed. "During the time that he was gone, and when I saw him in that place, I thought about it…and I concluded that I'd been wrong. That we all had been wrong." His eyes met Dr. Maps' and held them steady. "I'm trying to fix that. I'm trying to undue our mistake."

Dr. Maps could see Zack's sincerity. He wasn't going to give up. He would do what he had to—whatever that was—to get Cody out of Fairoaks. "Alright," he articulated. "I'll tell you what. I won't make any promises, but I'll go over to Fairoaks on the next visiting day and talk to him. I'll check the place out myself. How's that?"

That wasn't the suggestion Zack had been hoping for. But he figured that it was the best he was going to get. He had to take this one step at a time, for he was dealing with people who had far more authority than he had. "Okay," he consented. "You do that."

They both shook hands. Then Zack decided it was time for him to go.


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter is a little different from the previous ones, mainly because it has a part that's not really about the twins (gasp!). Since this story has mostly focused on Zack and Cody (obviously), I decided to add in a section about Carey—a person who is very significant to the both of them. I wanted to give her "life" so to speak because, this far, she's been little more than a cardboard cutout.**

**Aside from that, Bailey arrives in this chapter! You guys may have been wondering when she was going to show up. She's here now. :)**

**Also, anyone who likes dirty jokes will find this chapter most gratifying. :) You all might think I have a dirty mind after reading this chapter (while remembering the receptionist girl in the last chapter), but I promise that all I write is for a reason. **

**I hope you like it! And, of course, please review if you'd like.**

Carey Martin ogled intently at her reflection in the mirror of room 2330's bathroom. Apart from her make-up and hot pink strapless dress, she looked sullen and frail. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were flushed. She'd been crying. Again. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't do it anymore—it couldn't be healthy to cry this much. She wanted her son and ex-husband to at least think she was pulling through..even if it wasn't true. She was perfectly alright with them just assuming it. She didn't want them to be worried about her; there was already enough of that to spare for Cody.

_Cody, _she thought. _Sweet Cody. My Cody. There's nothing worse than when a mother finds out that she doesn't even know her own child. I suppose I don't know you, Cody. I suppose you became a stranger somehow. Because the Cody I knew would never have done the things that you've done. _

Her mind had been a jumbled mess ever since she, Zack, and Kurt had left Fairoaks and came back to the Tipton, after they had visited Cody. Of course, her mind had been a mess beforehand as well. But seeing Cody somehow had worsened it. Exacerbated it. He'd looked so pallid and sickly. So neglected. The moment her eyes had caught a glimpse of him, her heart broke—a second time. Then again, perhaps it had been a third time. She couldn't even remember anymore.

_I don't even know how broken my heart is. It's probably just a mass of scar tissue by now. _

Carey rubbed her lips together, reminding herself that she was not going to think about that. She leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting her lipstick's shade of red. Deciding that it was the wrong one. She bent down, opened the cabinet door beneath the sink, and tore off a perforated segment of paper towel. Diligently, she dabbed her lips with it, pausing between each wipe to look at the blotches of red that were made. _Yep, definitely not the right shade._ She picked up her make-up purse, which she kept sitting on the bathroom counter behind the sink, and began rummaging through it. She fumbled with the contents until she found another lipstick—a lighter shade of red that was almost a cross between red and tan. _That should do the trick, _she told herself, and carefully applied it. Her focus turned back to her reflection in the mirror. She smacked her lips. _Perfect._

Except for her morose disposition, she was stunning. That was acceptable. Nobody would be looking too closely at her, anyway. They'd be far more engrossed in her singing than in the finer details of her appearance.

She couldn't believe that she was going to sing for the first time since Cody's dilemma. She wasn't entirely sure if she should do it—and was even less sure if she _could_ it do—but she figured she had to. She needed the money, and she could not put her life on hold forever. Depressed or not, she had to carry on.

_And who knows? Maybe, it'll be good for me. Maybe what I need is to get back out there and start doing my thing. _

She'd convinced herself that that was the case. Besides, she reasoned, the longer she waited, the harder it would be. That's usually how it went.

Carey walked out of the bathroom, breathing intensely. Her son Zack was standing right outside the door, waiting for her to come out. "Zack?" she said. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I need to take a shower," he replied.

She managed a smile—the most authentic smile she could give, taking into account what she was feeling. It was rather funny that he was taking a shower. Well, funny to her anyway. When he was a child, he used to never take showers. In fact, he once went a whole month without one—which, unfortunately, had been after he'd started puberty. The stench had nearly killed her.

_He's grown up, _she mentally stated. _He's a man now. A young man. And still my baby, but…old enough to take care of himself. _

It was rather surprising that he'd turned out the way he did. It was a relief to some degree. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd often feared that he would not grow up to be very successful. He'd never really put forth much effort into things—least of all, into things that mattered. He'd been more concerned about following his hormones and chasing attractive girls. Whenever he'd talked about his future—which was seldom—he'd say that he would eventually find a way to get paid for doing practically nothing. As though that would actually work. Not that it was totally impossible, but usually jobs like that consisted of desk work and required many years of college education. And College hadn't exactly been on Zack's to-do list. His to-do list had been quite short. Besides the essentials, such as eating and sleeping, the only item on it was dating.

Cody, as fate would have it, had been dramatically different. He'd often worried about Zack—worried that Zack would pursue a life of crime. And there were times, dare she own up to them, that Carey had worried about that exact same thing. Zack had loved to scheme, and to manipulate, and to drive people up the walls. Especially authoritative people. There was something about it that seemed to thrill him.

Cody had been the intellect. The perky, studious, ever-so-optimistic boy who'd exploded with ideas and energy. The one who was sensitive, yet not afraid to stand up for what he believed in. He was the idealist. The one who'd had the most hope. The most faith in people.

_And yet, he's in a nut house and Zack is the one standing before me…about to take a shower. How things change. How things change without warning, and without your approval. Without reference to your sanity or your wishes. _

All of a sudden, Carey felt her eyes moisten. This was the worst time to cry. She was wearing mascara, and she didn't want it to run. Not in front of Zack.

Zack could tell that she was stifling her tears. For his sake. And for the sake of not having to redo her make-up. "Hey, it's okay," he whispered softly. "It's okay. Don't hold it in."

Carey sniffled and breathed unsteadily, still trying to be brave.

"Mom, don't hold it in."

She couldn't keep it at bay anymore. Her eyes looked down toward the floor as the tears spilled over, creating trails of mascara on her cheeks. She let out a whimper. Small, but still perceptible. "I'm sorry," she said pathetically. "I shouldn't do this." She ran her fingers over the skin of her cheeks and wiped away the black tracks. Then grimaced when she saw the mess on her fingers. "I bet I look horrible now."

"You look beautiful," Zack said, slowly pulling her into a tender embrace.

"No. No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. You've always looked beautiful, Mom. Always."

"Don't lie to me, Zack. I look terrible and we both know it. And it's not just the mascara. I look worn out, and exhausted…I look like I'm sagging. I don't look alive anymore."

Zack turned his head and kissed her on the cheek, an inch or two in front of her ear. "That's not true. You're gorgeous. You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and you know why? Cause you're my mom. You'll always be the most beautiful woman to me. Sagginess and mascara messes included."

Carey wrapped her arms around Zack's shoulders and squeezed him against her. "Oh God Zack, I love you! I love you, baby. I love you _so_ much!"

"I know. I love you too…Mommy." It was strange to call her that after so many years. Strange to hear it come from a man's voice rather than a child's. But he did not care in the slightest. He said it with pride.

Zack pulled away from his mother even more gradually than he had embraced her, and then stared at her affectionately. Observing her. Carey kept her gaze firmly on the floor, overcome with discomfort. "I can't go out now," she remarked. "Not looking like this. Moseby would fire me on the spot."

Zack shook his head, choosing to humor her.

Then Carey's whimpers transformed into sobs. "What am I going to tell him? I promised him I would sing today."

"I'm sure he'll understand," Zack told her.

"I don't know," Carey muttered hesitantly, wiping at her tear-streaked face. More mascara had ventured down her cheeks.

"I _do_ know. Moseby knows you, Mom. You've worked for him for years, and he knows how you are. He'll understand, trust me."

At first, Carey still looked unsure. But when Zack repeated himself, she finally gave in and nodded. "Okay," she concurred. "Okay, let's go tell him."

Zack and Carey both left the room to walk down to the front desk, intent on informing Mr. Moseby that Carey wasn't able to sing that day. Zack kept his arm wrapped around her shoulders, wanting to support her as well reassure her of his presence. He kept it there the whole time.

While they were in the elevator, Carey wiped away the remaining traces of mascara from her cheeks and pulled herself together. _Alright. It's going to be alright. What's one more day of missing work? It shouldn't be anything to fall apart over. I'm just not ready for this yet. I'm not ready to resume life. _

When the elevator doors opened, she was feeling much more confident. More ready to break the news to her boss. But when she and her son stepped out into the lobby, they were both stopped in their tracks by the presence of a familiar girl standing just inside the hotel's doors. She was holding the handle of a wheeled duffle bag in one hand and the strap of a backpack that was slumped over her shoulder in the other. Her dirty blonde hair was unmistakable, even though it had been cut short. Her eyes and her face were the same, as was everything else about her. She was dressed in a beige shirt and denim jacket, and tattered jeans that had a hole in the left knee. She stood motionless as stone, staring at the wide open space of the lobby before her. Staring back was Mr. Moseby behind the front desk, looking happy to see her, yet sympathetic towards her reason for coming.

Zack and Carey maintained blank expressions, neither of them knowing what to do. Both had been aware her arrival but had not known when she would be showing up. And now, here she was…right when everyone had been too absorbed in their emotions to think much about her.

Finally, Zack figured that someone better speak, so he made a feeble attempt at a warm smile and said, "Hey Bailey. Welcome to the Tipton."

…

George and Cody occupied themselves with jokes during the time they spent in their room. How else were they supposed to entertain themselves? There was nothing in the room except two beds and a barred window, meaning there was nothing else to do but sleep or look outside…which they often did. Cody loved taking in the appearance of the world outside of Fairoaks, even if he only observed a portion of it through a ten-inch by twelve-inch hole in the wall. It was better than staring at the bricks all the time.

Judging by the window in their room, it looked like it was going to rain today. The sky was overcast and there was a breeze that howled as it forced itself through the leaves of the trees. It was melancholy weather. Weather that caused gloomy attitudes. There was crying and shouting coming from some of the rooms down the hall, along with the voices of nurses trying to console them.

To keep from feeling bummed, as well as becoming bored, George and Cody decided to sit on their beds and tell jokes that they'd learned when they were younger. "How about this one?" George said. "A young man goes to the doctor's office for a physical examination, right? When he gets into the room, he takes off all his clothes. Well, this nurse standing by notices that he's got a dick the size of a kid's pinky finger and she starts cracking up. The young man turns to her and gives her this really stern look, and he says, 'You really shouldn't laugh. It's been swollen like that for weeks!'"

"Oh God," Cody said, chuckling.

"Okay, you're turn now."

Cody had never been a jokester in his younger years. All the jokes he'd ever heard in his life were either from his brother Zack, or from someone at school who he happened to overhear while they were telling the joke. Cody remembered a few of those; some he'd even written down because he found them humorous. He told one of them now: "Okay, so this guy named Bud who lives in a small, country town dies in a fire and gets badly burned. The morgue needs someone to identify him so they send for his two best friends, Daryl and Gomer. Daryl goes in first, and when the mortician pulls back the sheet, Daryl says, 'Well, I'll be damned. He's burnt up pretty good there, ain't he? Turn him over.' The mortician doesn't know why he's been asked to do this, but he does it anyway. When Daryl sees the body's backside, he says, 'Nope. He ain't Bud.' Then he leaves. The mortician thinks that was weird, but he doesn't say anything. He just sends for Gomer to come in. When Gomer comes in and takes a look at the body, he says, 'Holy cow! He's been burnt to a crisp, hasn't he? Turn him over.' The mortician does what he's told, and when Gomer sees the body's backside, he says, 'Nah, this ain't Bud.' Finally, she mortician's curious and he asks, 'How can you tell?' And Gomer replies, 'Bud had two assholes.' The mortician's really confused; he's like, 'What? Two assholes?' And Gomer looks at him and says, 'Yep. Everybody in town knew he had two assholes. Every time the three of us went out, they'd all point and say, 'Look, here comes Bud with them two assholes!'"

George smiled. "Not bad," he said. "But personally, I think mine was better."

Cody shrugged. "It's the best I could do."

"Do you know any dirty jokes?"

Cody thought back. He remembered one that he thought was rather raunchy. "Okay, okay, how about this one? It's kinda short but…I thought it was pretty dirty. This husband comes home and tells his wife that he's going to get a hundred-dollar bill tattooed on his dick. When his wife asks him why he would do a stupid thing like that, he says, 'Well, because I like to play with my money, I like to see it grow, and if you ever feel like you need to blow a hundred dollars, you won't have to go to the mall.'"

George laughed. "Now that's the shit right there," he commented. "Short, but fuckin' sweet."

Cody and George both laughed at themselves.

"You know what?" George said, "We should tell one of those jokes to the nurses when they come in here. I wonder how they'll react. Especially the ones who're all stiff-upper-lip. God, I hate those. We should definitely tell 'em one of those jokes. Get 'em to laugh for once."

"Maybe we should," agreed Cody. "Then again, I'd wonder what they'd do."

"Probably just give us a stern lecture about being respectful."

Right at that moment, a nurse walked in to give George his Depakote. George told her he had a joke that she should hear, and then proceeded to tell her the one about the man wanting to get the tattoo on his dick. By the end of it, the nurse was blushing and George was cracking up.

"That's, uh, some joke there," the nurse commented awkwardly.

"Yep," George agreed. "Compliments of Cody Martin over there." He gestured toward Cody.

The nurse seemed somewhat astonished that the joke had come from Cody. "Is it?" she asked, looking at him to verify it. Her expression looked as if to say, "Honestly, I would have expected a joke like that from George…but _you_, Cody?"

"I didn't come up with it," Cody reassured her. "I heard it at school once when I was a kid."

"I see." The nurse took a step closer to him. "Well, you know, it's not really respectful to tell jokes like that to staff. Quite frankly, I'd appreciate it if you kept the jokes clean…especially around us."

"Why?" George interjected, impertinently. "Afraid the dirty ones might turn you on?"

"No," the nurse said seriously. "It's just a matter of taking people's feelings into regard. I dare say, most of the workers here would rather not hear ridiculous stories about men's genitals from the patients."

George smiled widely. Defiantly. "Cause you deal with those on I daily basis, I bet."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The nurse was becoming very indignant by his attitude, taking it as insolence. Cody knew that George was only encouraged by this. Her annoyance delighted him.

_He just feels obligated to piss her off. Cheeky little bastard._ Cody clenched his lips together tightly, holding in a chuckle. He shouldn't have been feeling the urge to laugh at this, but he couldn't help himself.

"Oh, come on!" George exclaimed, looking as though the answer to the nurse's question was obvious. "The patients here are nuts. They're out of the blessed fuckin' minds! Especially us guys. We make out with the doors, and jack off into the toilets, and show our cocks to random girls in the hallways—we do it cause we need to. We totally fuckin' need to! It gives us a sense of purpose in this crazy-ass place. I mean, it's not like we can just fuck on our own accord, you know? We can't do that anymore cause you guys won't let us. We don't have free will in this place cause we're insane. Cause we can't hold our own, right? Can't live in society, you lose your rights as a citizen…including your right to fuck. And your right to tell a nasty joke to someone…"

"George, stop!" The nurse looked more than a little annoyed now.

But, of course, George didn't stop. "You know us guys. We're horny as hell. If we can't fuck every once in a while, we _go _crazy. You nurses and doctors are so stupid cause you think it's the other way around—you think we don't fuck cause we're crazy, when really we're crazy cause we don't fuck. We totally lose it when we go too long without gettin' some, and then you wind up with a bunch o' assholes on your hands. Needy assholes."

The nurse didn't say anything. Instead, she stared at George with eyes that—if he revered her—would have frozen him stiff. Eyes that held hatred. Coldness.

"I bet it ain't easy for you either," George continued. "Not nearly as bad as it is for us, but definitely not easy. Working here eight hours a day, every day, seeing some men you wanna touch but can't cause you'd lose your job. Right now, just by looking at you, I can tell that you're confused. You don't know which you want to do more—slap me silly or jump my bones. But you don't have to guts to do either cause you follow the rules."

The woman still did not say anything, but George could tell that she had had enough. Eventually, after staring callously at him for long minute, she turned away and walked out of the room, slamming the metal door shut behind her. The clanging of metal against metal rung in Cody's ears.

Just then, George began to snicker.

"What's so funny?" Cody questioned.

George looked at him. "Men's genitals—that's what she said. She said she didn't want to hear ridiculous stories about 'men's genitals.' Oh my God, why do nurses have to be so fuckin' formal? Why don't they just call it a 'dick' or a 'cock' like everyone else?"

Cody shrugged. "They're taught to."

"Yeah, I guess they are. It's still funny though."

Cody just shook his head. _What's funny is how that whole discussion on men and sex got started from one little harmless joke._

…

Lunch time was the usual. Cody and George got a table near the back of the cafeteria and sat next to each other. George started to eat like a starving caveman, while Cody took small bites here and there, afraid of food poisoning and improperly cooked meat (they were having chicken breasts).

Doris spotted them and came over to their table. Cody beamed at her when he initially saw her face, but then changed his expression to one of concern when he saw that she was crying. When she sat down, she wiped at her eyes and sniffled, trying to gather herself up and not bring Cody down. "Sorry about this," she said.

Cody didn't bother telling her not to apologize. He was too worried about what was going on. "What's wrong, Doris?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Doris sniffled again. "My mom and my brother came to visit me the other day. Usually my dad's with them, but this time, he wasn't. He and my mom had a fight recently—they've been fighting for a while now. For years. But, apparently, they had a really bad argument a week or so ago…and, my dad moved out. He just packed his stuff and left." More tears slid down her face and she broke out into a sob. "My brother…Elvis…he begged him not to leave. He even jumped in front of his car as it was pulling out of the driveway."

"Oh my God," Cody said. "Was he okay?"

"Yeah, he was fine. It's just…when I saw him, he was so sad. He and my mom both were. My mom told me that she was going to file for a divorce as soon as possible."

"I'm so sorry."

George, who had been listening in, leaned over the table and looked at her. "That doesn't really affect you too much, though, does it?" he seemed curious. "I mean, besides the fact that your dad might not be able to visit you as often as he used to, it shouldn't be that big of a big deal. Whether your parents are married or not, you're still stuck in here."

"That's true," Doris granted. "But still…it's just so unfair to Elvis. He's so young, and he looks up to our dad. But at the same time, he doesn't want to leave our mom either. She'd be devastated if he did that. He's all either of them have left at this point, and that's too much for him to have to deal with. He shouldn't have that burden."

George understood that. "Poor little guy."

Doris tried wiping her eyes again, but it was pointless because each tear that was dabbed away was replaced by another. "God, I wished this never happened," she muttered pitifully.

"I know how you feel," Cody said. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. Typically, he didn't like bringing up his parent's divorce; but right now, he was determined to identify with Doris. To show her that she was not alone. "My parents are divorced. They've been divorced since me and my brother were little."

George gaped at him. "You never told me that," he criticized. "How did you and your brother take it?"

Cody didn't have to think before answering. He remembered his parents' divorce almost as though it had merely happened the day previously. It was caught in his mind, stuck between other memories…like a knife that was never pulled out. "It sucked majorly for a long time," he confessed. "Me and Zack—we didn't know what to feel. So many emotions were coming at us at once, you know? It was impossible to sort through them all. Our parents kept telling us they loved us, but we were afraid they were only saying that to make us feel better—cause they didn't want traumatized kids on their hands."

Doris' sobs became more severe. "Oh Cody, I'm _so _sorry that happened to you!"

Cody shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. Not wanting Doris to feel worse than she already did. "It happens a lot. Zack and I didn't have it as bad as some other kids. Our dad still saw us from time to time, and things turned out okay."

"Still…you shouldn't have had to go through that. It was so unfair to you."

Cody didn't know what else to say. She was right; it had been unfair to him. It's always unfair to children when their parents leave each other and break the family unit apart. Children need both parents. That is a known fact. When they're young, family is all they know. It's their strength. When they lose that, they lose their stability. Their sense of safety comes crashing down. Cody had endured that, as did his brother Zack. But unlike Doris' brother Elvis, they'd had each other to find comfort in. Elvis had no one except a sister who was in a mental institution. And who was in there for cutting herself.

Cody rubbed her back and kept telling her that everything would be okay. Eventually, Doris' sobs died down and she became silent.

"I'm sure your dad misses you guys," George said to her, finishing up the last bit of food on his tray. He wasn't exactly proficient at comforting people due to his lack of emotional display, but it was easy to tell that he felt for Doris. If even a tiny amount, feelings of empathy were there.

_Wow, George, I'm impressed. I feel like I should write this down in a calendar._

"You think so?" Doris asked George, rather doubtfully.

George met her eyes. "Well, if he doesn't than he's crazy. If he doesn't, he belongs in a place like this."


	13. Chapter 13

**At long last, here is chapter 13! I meant to post it much sooner but I've been crazy busy these last couple of days, with papers and projects and exams coming at me constantly. I updated as soon as I could. **

**Just thought I'd go ahead and say, this chapter serves as the beginning of the story's climax, which is why it's so long. The story will be a spiral of fast-paced events from here to the end. And then a twist. :)**

**To avoid confusion, this chapter mentions Dr. Maps but his opinions about Fairoaks won't be revealed until the next chapter. Sorry to make you all wait, but this chapter is long enough as it is. **

**Enjoy! And please review!**

It was surprisingly easy to lose track of time at Fairoaks Asylum. A week had managed to slip by without Cody even noticing. He had to admit, it was mostly due to George and his endless string of dirty jokes. After five days of listening to them, Cody concluded that he had heard well over fifty. Some were short, some were long; some were about sex, some were just about genitals. Some made fun of women, and some made fun of men. Some were clever—actually most were pretty clever; but there were a handful of them that were ridiculous. Cody had never heard so much perversion in his life. There was one about a catholic priest and a little boy that he thought was on the verge of taking it too far. Cody didn't laugh much at that one. In fact, after a while he pretty much stopped laughing all together. Once you've heard about all the dirty jokes you can take, they wear out their welcome. Cody tried to compliment them with some other jokes. Nerd jokes mostly, and a political joke every now and then. Something to clean George's mind a little. Majority of the time, though, it didn't work.

_And I thought Zack was bad, _Cody thought to himself one day after George told a particularly gross one. Zack had definitely been a fan of dirty humor. He probably would have liked George if he met him. But even Zack would not have been able to handle this much. Cody was tempted to ask George if dirty jokes were the only kind of jokes he knew. Judging by what he knew of George's past, he assumed they were.

Aside from George and his filthy humor, there was also Doris. The poor girl was noticeably getting worse, day by day. She complained at lunch time about how her life was not worth living, and how God despised her, and how she wished she had never been born. Cody did what he could to comfort her, but it was never a success. Eventually he got to the point where he was considering moving to a different table and not talking to her at all. He couldn't stand it any longer. He liked Doris, he couldn't deny that. She was sweet and sympathetic to him, and he appreciated that. Every time he saw her, though, he felt dismal. She was constantly having crying fits where she would be sitting next to Cody, staring blankly at her tray of food, and then suddenly burst into tears and sob uncontrollably. She once even began muttering to herself. She had pressed the bottom of her palm against her forehead and mumbled the word "fuck" repeatedly, in a steady procession. It was difficult to make out with the noise from all the other patients in the cafeteria, but Cody could hear it. It was almost like a relaxing mantra, despite its vulgarity: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" He didn't know what was to become of her. Despite his resentment towards the faculty at Fairoaks, part of him thought it a good idea to go to them and have them try to console her.

And then there was the drama. The endless soap opera that was Fairoaks. Within the first week, Cody had seen more commotion than one usually saw on TV. One patient had tried to run away during the time they were let outside. A nurse spotted him turning a corner along the street that went from Fairoaks into the neighboring town, and she had called for help. An emergency van was sent out and the man was brought back in restraints. That wasn't too surprising; nobody could get very far on foot. More terrifying than that was a fight that broke out in the shower room, when an irate boy knocked another boy's front teeth out and slammed his head against a wall, giving him a concussion. The attacker was injected with a sedative, and once he was lying on the floor unconscious, three nurses wheeled in a stretcher and placed him on it. They placed the victim on a stretcher too, and both were wheeled away. The fight had shaken up several of the on-looking patients, including Cody, and a group of nurses were called in to go about and comfort them. Some of the patients wanted to leave without taking a shower. But, of course, they couldn't do that. Showers were mandatory.

There was also an incident where a girl took off her shirt and bra while she was in the restroom and then ran down the hallway of Rosenberg Hall, topless and screaming like a banshee. She was running fairly fast, so the nurses had a heck of a time trying to chase her down and get her clothed again. When they caught her and asked her why she did that, she said she couldn't remember. They went into the restroom to search for her shirt and bra, and found them both crammed into one of the toilets, sopping wet. Cody had been on his way to the restroom himself when he saw that happen. Jenny was walking with him, as his escort, when the girl darted past them in a wild frenzy, not bothered in the slightest by their presence. Jenny had turned to Cody with an embarrassed expression on her face and said, "Just pretend you didn't see that."

"Sure thing," Cody had replied. _Yeah right, _he thought.

There were more incidences too. Screaming matches, crying fits (some far worse than Doris'), hitting, hallucinations, running, even heated arguments between nurses. All of that mayhem happened within just a seven-day period, and all of it had kept Cody's mind occupied while time was going by.

Before he knew it, he was being taken back to Dr. Thompson's office for another session.

Dr. Thompson looked a little out of sorts when Cody saw him. He was pacing back and forth when Cody entered the room, and after he sat down, he continuously tapped his fingers on the surface of his desk, drumming them rhythmically. He did that for two or three consecutive minutes, before flipping through some of the scribbled-on pages of his steno notebook. He made swift glances in Cody's direction to let him know that he was aware of his presence.

Cody didn't have to be a psychologist—or any kind of professional "ologist"—to know that the doctor was stressing over something. He was tremendously curious, but decided it best to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he directed his attention toward a buzzing sound that was coming from the office's window. When he looked there, he saw a small wasp fluttering against the glass, repetitively ramming itself into it. "There's a wasp in here," he said. He thought it was a good idea to make sure Dr. Thompson knew about it. That is, if he didn't already.

"I am aware," Dr. Thompson replied gruffly.

"Aren't you going to kill it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Dr. Thompson looked up at Cody with aggravation in his eyes. "Because I don't want to."

"What if it stings me?" Cody asked, unwilling to let the subject be. "I'm allergic, you know." Truthfully, Cody wasn't sure of that. He'd been taken to a doctor once when he was younger for a sting, but he had not been stung by a wasp. He had been stung by a hornet. His skin had swelled and turned bright red, and the doctor swore that he was allergic and needed attention. When Cody was taken to a second doctor, however, he was told that he was not allergic. And within a day, the swelling and the redness had both gone down anyway, so he never found out for certain.

But he wanted to tell Dr. Thompson that he was, if only to see how he would react.

_Will he do something to accommodate me?_

Dr. Thompson made no attempt to move. "I'm sure if we leave it alone, it will leave us alone."

Cody decided not to venture any further with that. He shifted his focus to Dr. Thompson's desk, which was notably cleaner than the last time he saw it. There weren't as many papers piled all over the surface, and Cody actually saw spots of mahogany peering through the remaining clusters of white sheets. "I see you've cleaned your desk," he commented.

"Yes," Dr. Thompson responded. "I recently had to throw away some old papers." He picked up his ever-present red pen and marked something out on his notepad. Cody caught a glimpse of the contents that were written there; he thought it was somewhat peculiar how Dr. Thompson felt it prudent to scratch out something that appeared to already be chicken scratch.

"Old papers about what?" Cody pried. "Patients?" He really didn't care to know, honestly. He just wanted to keep Dr. Thompson participating in a discussion. Even if it was pointless.

He didn't know why he wanted that, but he did.

"That's none of your concern," Dr. Thompson told him crossly, without even lifting his eyes from the paper.

Cody sat in silence for a minute, shaking his leg to prevent the boredom from bothering him too much. Finally he asked, "Are we just going to sit here like this the whole time?"

"No," Dr. Thompson said. "I will be with you in a moment. I just need to finish some very important business here."

_Oh sure, doctor. Scratching out chicken scratch. _Very _important business._

Another minute drifted by, followed by half of yet another. Then, at last, Dr. Thompson flipped to an empty page in his notebook and faced Cody. "Alright," he said. "Let's talk. Providing you want to, of course."

Cody already knew what he was going to say. "I want to."

"Excellent!" Dr. Thompson seemed to brighten up a bit. "By all means, start wherever you want. You have the floor."

Cody had no intention of discussing his issues. It was clear that Dr. Thompson expected him to, but as far as Cody was concerned, the good doctor would have to deal with disappointment because that was not where he was headed at all. The night previously, Cody had been thinking about Zack's visit and how it had ended, which in turn had led to his thinking about his childhood. He remembered something from his second grade year of school, before he and his family had moved to Boston and he was attending an elementary school in Seattle. That something was a short story he had been told by a teacher. A teacher who'd been rather daring, and willing to try the rules. As soon as he remembered it, he promised himself that he would tell it to Dr. Thompson.

He thought Dr. Thompson needed to hear it.

"I want to tell you a story," he said. Instantly, the doctor's expression changed from one of joy to one of surprise. "Just a little, short story," Cody assured him. "One with morals."

Dr. Thompson decided to go with it, clearly banking on the possibility that the story would be about Cody's past. "Okay. Go ahead," he encouraged.

"This bird is flying south for the winter," Cody began, "and it's really cold out. It's windy and flurrying, and all the grass is covered in white. It's so cold, in fact, that the bird eventually freezes and falls to the ground. He's not dead, but he's unable to fly. He scampers around, looking for an abandoned burrow to hide in, but he can't find any. He gives up and lies down and decides that he's going to die. Just then, this cow comes over to him. The bird thinks the cow might step on him, but it doesn't. It doesn't even see him. Instead, it lifts up its tail and shits. Some of the shit lands on the bird, and the bird's grossed out by it."

Dr. Thompson grimaced.

"But later on, after the cow has walked away, the bird starts to realize that he's getting warmer. The shit is thawing him out. He realizes now that he doesn't have to die anymore. Sure, he might stink and be filthy, but that's a small price to pay for living. He's so happy about this that he starts to sing. He sings so loudly that a cat hears him and comes over. The cat is hungry, so it digs him out of the shit pile and then eats him. The bird dies horribly and painfully in the cat's mouth."

"That's awful," Dr. Thompson declared. "What's the moral?"

Cody looked at him matter-of-factly. "Not everyone who gives you shit is your enemy, and not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend. And when you're in shit, it's best to just keep your mouth shut and endure."

Cody felt the urge to giggle. And Dr. Thompson's face added to the intensity of that urge. His lips were puckered in disapproval and his eyebrows were furrowed.

"Well?" Cody asked.

Dr. Thompson sucked in his lower lip, contemplating before speaking. When he did speak, his voice was steady but Cody could easily notice the impatience within it. "I would love to know why you thought it necessary to tell me that story."

"Isn't it obvious?" Cody mused, smiling in enjoyment. "It's a representation of all that's happening to me."

Dr. Thompson gazed at Cody in befuddlement.

"I nearly froze to death, Dr. Thompson. Or at least, that's how I feel. And I think I might be thawing out. The shit, believe it or not, is everything that's bringing me back to life. But I have to keep my mouth shut and endure, or the cat will come. And the cat represents…" Cody paused mid-sentence.

_Well, I think you can figure out for yourself what the cat represents. _

Dr. Thompson was not pleased at all. "Where did this story come from?" he wanted to know. His voice was even more irritated.

"I heard it a long time ago, when I was in the second grade. A teacher told it to his class. I was thinking about it last night, and wanted to tell you."

"I see," was all Dr. Thompson said in response. Then he bent over and scribbled something illegible in his notebook. When he sat back up, he huffed. He was dreadfully out of shape. He wasn't the heaviest man Cody had ever seen but just slightly bending over his desk nearly rendered him breathless. He was in desperate need of exercise. And some sunshine. His pale skin appeared ghostly and unnatural.

"You should really consider going outside sometime, Dr. Thompson," Cody remarked. "It'd be good for you. You look like you could use some vitamin D." _And some burnt calories. _

"Thank you for taking an interest in my well-being, Mr. Martin," Dr. Thompson said, more resentfully than Cody would have liked. "But I'm afraid my schedule is far too booked for me to leave my office."

"How many times do you actually leave your office, doctor?" Cody was quite curious about that. "Like, today, how many times have you left?"

"I don't see how that is relevant to this session," Dr. Thompson said seriously. "Or how it is any of your personal business."

Cody shrugged. "Mankind is my business, Dr. Thompson."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that if I see someone who needs help, I'll try to help them."

Dr. Thompson looked at Cody incredulously. "You think I need help?" he questioned.

"Yeah, I do."

"How so?"

"You don't live a very healthy life, doctor. That's dangerous. It's important to take care of yourself before you try to take care of others. I think that's your problem. You're always trying to help everyone else, when you don't seem to realize that you won't be able to do that without helping yourself first."

Dr. Thompson's eyes widened skeptically for a moment, and then he bent over once again to do more scribbling.

"So what do you say?" Cody continued. "You want to go outside and get in touch with the world or just sit here and be miserable for the rest of the day?"

When Dr. Thompson looked up again, his eyes stared at Cody patronizingly. "You're talking to me about being miserable?" he scoffed. "_Me? _You're talking to _me_ about needing help? This coming from the boy who shot himself in his own brother's bedroom?"

Cody shrugged again. "I know some things about life, doctor. I may be crazy, but I know I'm intelligent."

"Impulsively committing suicide over some girl is hardly intelligent, Mr. Martin. Intelligent people think before they act."

"Oh, I thought about killing myself before I actually tried to. It wasn't on impulse at all." Cody recalled how he had contemplated for weeks about the details of his death—when it was going to happen, where it was going to happen, how it was going to be carried out, and so on. Zack's house had seemed like his best bet as for the place because he'd wanted so badly to tell Zack how right he'd been about Brianna (the name still tasted like bile in his mouth). Plus, even more so than that, he wanted to promise Zack that he loved him. All throughout his childhood and adolescence, the words "I love you" rarely came out of his mouth when he was speaking to Zack. In all truthfulness, "I hate you" had been far more prevalent. But they hadn't been the truth. Many words that Cody said had not been the truth. After what went down with Brianna, and whatever else had driven him over the edge, nothing felt truthful anymore. Nothing felt sane, or worthwhile. That's why he'd decided to end it. All of it. He'd been exhausted and in pain, and tired of not being able to smile anymore because it hurt to curve his lips. It made perfect sense to him to take himself out of a world where he had to live like that. But he felt he had to tell Zack the truth—the only truth he knew of that still existed—that he loved him. That is why he'd chosen to come back to Boston to kill himself rather than doing it in Connecticut. He'd wanted to say those lonely truthful words to Zack. Even if they were the last thing he said on this earth.

Cody thought it was slightly amusing how, even when he was preparing to leave his brother for good, he'd been determined to ensure him of his love. It may not have been a plausible thing to do in many ways, but at that time he thought it seemed like his most brilliant idea. "I'd had it planned for weeks."

Dr. Thompson instantly dropped his patronizing stare and replaced it with one of deep interest. "Weeks?"

"Yeah. I had everything worked out in my head. I was going to go to Zack's house, stay with him for a little while—and by a while, I mean like a day—tell him what happened, and then when he went to work…" Cody pressed his index and middle fingers to his temple to represent a pistol, "…bang."

"Just like that, eh?"

"Yep." Then Cody thought again. "Only, it was more like this." He transferred his fingers from his temple to his chest. "Bang."

"Ah, yes." Dr. Thompson was clearly pleased. Not by the context of what they were talking about but by the fact that Cody was actually cracking the shell that was guarding his insides and revealing what had happened with his attempted suicide. Next topic, if all went smoothly: Cody's emotional issues. "Tell me, why did you choose the chest rather than the heart as your target? The heart, though fragile, is less susceptible to bullet damage. The head would have gotten the job done quicker."

"Don't I know it," Cody practically murmured.

"So why the chest? Why the heart instead of the brain?"

Cody didn't know how to answer this. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. He hadn't confessed this to anyone, and he was particularly less than thrilled at the notion of Dr. Thompson, of all people, knowing it before anyone else. _Maybe I should tell Zack this. He's still sensitive, and he'll most likely not understand (of course he won't), but I'd rather tell him than this stick in the mud. _"I need to talk to Zack," he said intensely.

Dr. Thompson was taken aback by the sudden change in subject. It was his job not to argue with his patients, but to counter them gently when they got out of line or requested something that they couldn't have. When he countered Cody, however, there was obvious agitation in his voice. "I'm afraid that's impossible for the time being. You'll have to wait until visiting day…which isn't that far off."

"Please, Dr. Thompson, I need to speak to him now."

"That is completely out of the question, Mr. Martin. I'm sorry, but you cannot see Zack at this point."

"Please, please, I'm begging you…please." Cody didn't know where it came from, but suddenly desperation possessed him. He was overcome with this sensation—irrevocable and forceful—of needing to see his brother. And he was willing to suggest anything to do it. "There's something important I need to tell him. If I could only make a quick phone call…"

"Mr. Martin…" Dr. Thompson's face was turning scarlet with anger. "As I said before, you cannot come in contact with Zack until visiting day. And I'm convinced there's nothing so important you must tell him that cannot wait until that time." He wiggled his fingers in between the collar of his shirt and his thick neck, as if adjusting the collar line even though it didn't need to be adjusted. "Why this sudden need to talk to him?" he wanted to know.

_Because, doctor, he's my brother. And because he's Zack. And because he knows me in a way that no one else does. And because I love him more than anything on this earth…myself included. And because I hurt him and want him to know why. And because of a thousand other reasons that you could never begin to understand._

Cody looked downward, his eyes focusing on the recently cleaned desk top. "Don't worry about it," he muttered crestfallenly. He felt his throat close and tears form in the corners of his eyes. He had no idea where they came from, but they were there…as present as he was. "Can I just…leave?"

Dr. Thompson sat back against his seat and looked at him. Scrutinizing him. "Are you sure? You haven't been here very long."

"Yes, I'm sure." He was. As much as he hated being locked in his and George's room, he would rather be there than here, with Dr. Thompson.

"Well, alright then. If that's what you want." He dialed the extension on the phone, called a nurse, and within two minute's time, he was being hauled back to good old room 312.

…………

Bailey had never been to the Tipton hotel before, though she had heard well over a hundred stories about it. While she and Cody were dating during the Seven Seas High study abroad program, he had told her about some of the things he and Zack used to do together as kids while they lived there. Most of it was mischievous and got them into heaps of trouble, but they nevertheless gave him some good stories to tell. He quite enjoyed walking down memory lane with her. His childhood was not a conventional one, after all. How many other kids spent a good portion of their lives living in a luxurious hotel? That, in and of itself, was something to tell people.

Bailey used to say she wished she could go there one day. Cody had shown her pictures of the building—ones he'd taken and ones on the internet; he'd also went to YouTube and managed to show her a commercial for it that he, his brother, his mom, and several of the hotel staff had been in to promote it. Bailey was ecstatic. "I can't believe you were actually in a commercial," she'd said in astonishment. "That is just unbelievable. Over half the people in Kettlecorn don't even have TVs."

Cody would tell Zack what Bailey thought about the stories he told her—the little fortunate (or not so fortunate) circumstances that they'd managed to fall into while living and creating chaos at the Tipton. Zack had milked it for everything it was worth. He had a knack for flaunting things; it was part of his nature. He'd even planned out how he was going to act if Bailey ever came to the Tipton. Suave. Charming. Like he owned the place.

But he didn't act that way at all when he saw her. He was nervous and edgy, and holding back fresh tears because her face—even though she looked different with shorter hair—brought back a flood of memories. Memories of Cody being happy, and naïve, and in love. Memories of him loving life and relentlessly spouting off all his dreams and achievements.

Moments that Zack would have given anything to restore.

He hugged her, told her he'd missed her, and thanked her for coming. And then he offered to give her a small tour of the hotel's main areas (obviously, with how huge the hotel was, a more extensive tour was out of the question). He'd had it in mind for years to show her the exquisite dining room and lounge, where his mom sang, and the den where Arwin Hawkhauser—an old friend of his and the hotel's previous engineer—had lived. But she politely declined and said she'd prefer it if he just took her up to his suite and allowed her to unpack. So that's what they did.

Of course, not before Mr. Moseby approached her and hugged her as well, and Carey shook her hand in welcoming.

Considering the situation, Bailey did not particularly feel welcome. In fact, she suddenly felt as though she was intruding on something private and exclusive. She had come for the sake of Cody, but part of her was second-guessing that choice. It wasn't like she had any real connection with Cody anymore. She barely even knew what he was to her. A friend? Perhaps, but they lived so far apart from each other and didn't communicate much. Friends were supposed to keep in contact. To reassure each other of their company and support.

_You care about Cody, though, _she told herself honestly. _Regardless of what he is to you, you know full well that you care about him. You cried yourself dry when you got Zack's email. You prayed and you denied, and you questioned and you swore. You love Cody. Plain and simple._

When Zack opened the door to room 2330, all Bailey did was walk inside and stand in the kitchen. Her eyes scanned her surroundings as her brain processed the idea that Zack and Cody had been raised here. This was where they came home from school; where they brought home girls; where they bickered and got grounded; where they played games and thought up schemes; where they woke up each morning, and where they slept. The gravity of that truth made her head spin and finally she had to sit down.

Zack sat next to her. "You want to talk?" he asked, showing her that he was there. For her. With her. That they were suffering together.

Bailey didn't know how to reply. She wanted to speak, yet she also wanted to keep quiet. There was a part of her that was fighting the urge to scream and yell, and throw herself to her knees in front of him; but there was another part—more sensible—that thought it best to decline Zack's offer and prolong the silence in order to think. In the end, she went with the more sensible one. "No thanks," she said. "Not yet." Then, sensing his disappointment, she added, "It was a long trip and I'm really tired. Would it be okay if I just took a nap for a while?"

"Sure," Zack granted. "Where would you like to sleep?"

"Anywhere is fine."

Since there was nowhere else to sleep, Zack gave her Cody's bed.

On visiting day, the butterflies were fluttering relentlessly in Zack's stomach. He was determined for this visit to not be like the last one. The last one had ended badly, with him walking out on his brother, the same way he had before his brother…no, he wasn't going to think about that. Thinking about that would only make his stomach hurt more, and it would make him angry. Or worse—bring out the new Zack, who he wanted to keep at bay. Especially now, when Bailey was going to accompany him.

Zack and Bailey, along with Kurt and Carey, all quietly got into Zack's car. An overwhelming sense of dread came over them, just as it had the last time. No one liked the awkward silence, but at the same time, no one knew what to say.

_What's Bailey going to think when she sees Cody? _thought Zack in trepidation. He remembered how Cody had looked the last time he saw him, with his sunken eyes, pallid skin, and messy hair. He'd looked terrible, to say the least. Abused. If not physically, than mentally. Abandoned. Bailey had never seen him like that. She knew Cody as the bright-eyed intelligent boy, brimming with confidence and a never-ending string of future plans. _Perhaps she shouldn't go. _Zack wasn't so sure if he liked the idea of Bailey seeing Cody. He knew that it was a done deal; she was going to see him no matter what—but he couldn't shake this sudden feeling of regret. Regret that she would soon lose that image of who he was in the past.

Zack knew what it felt like to lose that image, and he couldn't imagine that kind of trauma for Bailey.

_Oh well,_ he speculated. _Too late now. Bailey won't stop until she sees him at least once. She even said in her email that she would break down the building door if she had to._

…………

Shortly following his fruitless session with Dr. Thompson, Cody awaited visiting day. As he expected, a nurse came to get him during visiting hours and led him to the visiting room. When she sat him down at the mahogany desk, she told him that he had more visitors this time than he had last time. _More? _thought Cody. He couldn't remember ever being this popular outside of Fairoaks. Then again, the people who came to see him were those who were emotionally distressed and worried, and determined to make sure that he knew they loved him.

He wondered who the other visitor—or visitors—could be. He spent a good fifteen minutes in solitude, mulling over the possibilities. _Maybe it's Max. Or Tapeworm. Or Maddie. Or maybe it's Mr. Moseby. Or, heck, even London._

He never once considered that it would be Bailey.

He stood up when he saw her, standing next to his parents and twin brother in the doorway. He remembered that Zack had told her about what he'd done, but he never once had suspected her to be there, at that moment…gazing at him as though her mind had gone blank

His parents and brother went through the usual sequence of actions—the hugging, the kissing, the crying, and the endless repetition of muttered "I love yous." This time, Zack joined in with their mom and dad, and it was Bailey who hung back and waited patiently for her turn. When Cody's family had backed away and gave it to her, she did nothing. Zack glanced at her awkwardly, and when she made no attempt to move, he prompted her. "Why don't you talk to him? You're his friend."

She still did notknow what she was going to say, but she abided by his suggestion and approached Cody. For a long moment, they just stared, their breathing falling in sync with each other. Cody could tell by Bailey's expression that she was searching for the appropriate words to say, given where they were and why they were there. And she was noticeably not succeeding.

Cody tried to make her feel more at ease by smiling. "Hey…Bailey," he said softly.

Finally, Bailey decided that the best way to greet him in this situation was not through words, but through physical action.

So she raised her arm, held it back, and then slapped him across the face. Hard. Cody's head turned to the side, a red mark immediately forming on his cheek. He didn't contradict her, or swear at her, or call her any fowl names that might have been used at his defense. He didn't even ask why she did it. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on the tiled floor and remained silent.

His family members, however, weren't so forgiving. "Bailey!" Carey exclaimed. "You had no right to do that!"

"Bailey, I know you're upset," Kurt began, "but that doesn't mean you can just—" He didn't get to finish.

"What the hell was that?" Zack spat in anger. He looked at his brother. "Cody, man, I'm sorry. She's just pissed, okay? Don't mind her. She's just upset."

"It's okay, guys," Cody said calmly in return, his focus still on the floor. "I deserved it."

"Damn right you did!" Bailey retorted.

"Alright, I think that's enough," declared Zack. He took Bailey by the arm and pulled her toward the door. "Bailey, mind stepping out into the hall with me?"

Bailey tried to yank her arm out of his grasp but when he would not let her go, she gave up and allowed him to lead her out of the visiting room and into the bare, white-walled hallway. "I can't believe you!" he yelled. "What were you thinking?"

Bailey looked at him guiltily, and then shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I wasn't," she replied.

"Wasn't what?"

"Thinking."

Zack took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if emailing Bailey about this mess in the first place had been such a good idea. "You know," he told her matter-of-factly, "when you replied to my email and said you wanted to see Cody, I thought it would be a good thing. I thought having you here would help matters. And you know why that was?"

Bailey didn't answer but looked at him with regret in her eyes.

"Because he needs all the support he can get, and I thought you were going to give him that. Not go all violent! Jesus Christ, Bailey!"

"I'm sorry," Bailey said. "It wasn't my intention to do that." When Zack gave her a doubtful expression, she hastened to explain: "When I came here, all I could think about was seeing Cody. All I could keep my mind on was how I could make him get better…make him happier."

"Well you sure as fuck ruined that now, didn't you?"

Bailey shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Yeah, I did. It's just…when I actually saw him, everything I had planned to say…all of it…just disappeared. And the only thing that was left was rage. I had this urge to make him feel what he did to us. Or, at least, what he did to me."

Her words shot a streak of fear into Zack's gut. The fear of insight, spurred by the fact that they mirrored the mindset of the "new" Zack—the Zack who, if in charge at that moment, would have instantly agreed with her. Perhaps he would even have offered to go into the room and give Cody another slap, just for good measure. _Good thing the old Zack is leading, _he reasoned. _The "new" Zack is monstrous. _"And did that slap do the trick?" he questioned, hiding his inner turmoil.

"No…it didn't. It was a horrible thing to do. I shouldn't have done it. If you're okay with it, I want to go back in and say I'm sorry to him."

Zack seemed less than enthusiastic. His instincts were telling him not to let her back in there, for fear that she would let her rage get the best of her again. But his judgment was telling him that Bailey should be permitted a second chance. Besides, it made sense that she apologize for her behavior.

He sided with his judgment. "Well, okay, but…try to control yourself. I'm angry too. More than you could imagine. But Cody doesn't need our criticisms, or our anger. He needs our love. Show him you love him."

Bailey nodded.

When they came back in, Carey and Kurt were wary of Bailey. But she assured them that all she wanted to do was apologize.

Carey crossed her arms. "Well, I hope that apology is for all of us," she said crossly.

"It is," Bailey replied. "I'm sorry. So sorry… for what I did. It was wrong, uncalled for, and…Cody didn't deserve it."

Cody's eyes met hers. "It's okay."

Carey's eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, but she let it slide.

"Cody," Bailey went on, her voice cracking, "I love you. I really do. When I heard about what you…what happened…I was devastated. I didn't understand. Could you please explain it to me?" A tear streaked her face and her additional "please" escaped her lips as a stifled sob.

Cody sighed. He knew she was going to ask this. This was what everyone wanted to know. He sat back down in his chair and contemplated how he was going to answer. "I hated life," he said.

"That's it?" Bailey scoffed, another tear sliding down her cheek. "You hated life? That's why you tried to leave us?"

Cody shook his head, frustrated. "That's not it. Life was… a joke. It was a joke. It wasn't real anymore."

Carey bent over and touched her fingers to his hair. "Baby, what do you mean life was a joke?" she asked. "That doesn't make any sense. Is it because of what happened with your girlfriend? Britney, was it?"

"Her name wasn't Britney; it was Brianna." Cody swallowed hard. The name was poison to him. "She cheated on me, and then dumped me…and I realized that love was worthless. And if love is worthless, that means everything is worthless. Life is a joke—all of it. It's stupid. They say God created everything. I think he's having a laughing spree at all this because it's so sad that it's fucking hilarious. Life…it's not just any kind of joke, either. It's like a bar room joke, and its punch line is pain. No matter what we do—no matter how hard we try, how positive we stay—we end up hurt. We all go six feet under anyway. So I figured, why wait? Death can't be so bad. It's just the opposite of life, right? I thought that maybe, if there was an afterlife, I could find out what all of it meant…what I meant."

"But then it'd be too _late_!" Bailey was openly crying now.

Carey had wrapped her arms around Cody's shoulders and had her face pressed against the crook of his neck. "Oh Cody, you're not worthless." she muttered. "Life's not a joke."

Cody paid her little mind. His eyes scanned the room around him, going from Bailey's pitiful image, to that of his brother, who was leaning against the far wall with arms crossed over his chest and an indignant expression on his face. Cody didn't know this, but the new Zack was crawling to the surface within him and the old was desperately trying to hold him down. The old Zack was fierce, but the new was crazed and stronger. Cody waited for him to say something. And Zack was fully aware of that, so he did. "That's bullshit, bro," he said. "You and I both know that. This had nothing to do with that bitch. You didn't blow your chest out because of some fucking whore who couldn't appreciate you. I know you better—"

"Zack, don't!" Kurt warned. "Not here. Not now."

"Then _when_?" Zack spat at him. "When?"

Kurt struggled with his reply. "When…things are…better."

"Better?" Zack repeated incredulously. "_Better_? Dad, things aren't going to get 'better' until we stop kidding ourselves and actually say what's on our minds!"

"Zack, _please_ don't do this again!" Kurt begged.

"Again?" Cody asked.

Carey lifted her head up from Cody's shoulder and answered him. "Not long ago, your father and Zack got into an argument. Zack went…ballistic."

"I was just speaking the truth!" Zack told her severely.

"Guys, stop it!" Bailey cried. "Just stop it. Let's not waste our visit."

"Yes," Kurt agreed. "Let's not. We only get to come here once a week. Let's try and make the best of it."

Zack sucked in a breath and composed himself. He knew what he needed to say, but he wanted to say it the right way…with the old Zack fully in charge. The _real _Zack. "Cody…" he started gently, "bro, I _know_ that Brianna was not the only reason you tried to kill yourself…"

Everyone, except Cody, collectively winced at the last part.

Zack continued. "I know it, man. In my heart, I know. I know you better than anyone else ever could, because you're my twin. You and I—we have this connection. No one could ever understand it; heck, I'm not sure I do. But it's there and I can't deny it. I swear, it brought me home to you the day you shot yourself; I'd never been so happy to forget about work in my life…and that's coming from _me_. I'm grateful that I left those blueprints behind that day. I don't think it was a coincidence that it happened. I think something—maybe fate, maybe God—made that happen. They made it happen because you weren't supposed to die." Zack swallowed and took another breath. The old Zack was in the driver's seat completely, and he felt the urge to bowl over and cry until he couldn't cry anymore. But he refused to do that; he couldn't. "I never realized how strong our connection was until all of this. My chest hurts all the time, and I can't smile anymore. Nothing in the world looks beautiful like it used to. And…and now…now I know why that is."

Zack paused. Everyone around him listened intently.

"Because I can't exist without you. There is no me without you. There can't be because you're my other half."

Mentally, Zack added, _and when your heart is split in two, so is mine. And I think that is why there are two people living inside me now. _

He wasn't finished. This next part was the most important: "I want to help you, Codes. I want to make everything all good again, like it used to be. I don't know if I'll succeed, but I'm willing to try. I want to stop hurting; I want to be able to smile again. But I can't do this alone. Do you want me to hurt, Cody? Do you take pleasure in knowing that I'm in pain?"

Cody didn't have to think before answering. "Oh God, no. I love you, Zack."

"Okay, well, the only way to heal me is to help me help you. And to do that, you've got to tell me the truth. Tell me why you really wanted to die. I have to know that."

It took a long minute before Cody began to formulate an answer. He fumbled horribly with his words. "Zack, I…I just…you're just…I could never…"

Carey patted his back affectionately. "It's alright, sweetie. Just let it all out," she whispered.

But Cody couldn't do it. He fumbled and sputtered, and nothing sensible came out of him.

And then, as luck would have it, a nurse opened the door to the visiting room and told Cody's loved ones that their visiting time was up. When Zack asked if they could have another minute, she said no and ushered them out.

Zack, Bailey, Kurt, and Carey left the Fairoaks Asylum building with a mutual feeling of disappointment mixed with a twinge of triumph. The visit had not been pleasant in the least, but at the same time, they had a hunch that they could get somewhere with Cody, even if it took a while. What Zack said to him had touched them all, but it also made them realize that there was more to the situation than they knew. Zack had sensed it when no one else had a clue. With him, they could possibly cure Cody.

As they were making their way down to Zack's car, they saw a figure coming toward them from the parking lot. He was wearing black suit pants with a belt and a white collar-neck shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was carrying a binder under one arm, and when he saw Zack and the rest of the group he smiled at them. "Hi Zack," he said. "And Mr. and Mrs. Martin." Then he turned to Bailey. "And who is this lovely young lady? Is she your girlfriend, Zack?"

"No," replied Zack. "She's my brother's ex."

"Oh, I see." When he was close enough, he stuck out his hand in greeting and allowed her to take it.

"My name's Bailey," Bailey said. "Bailey Pickett."

"It's nice to meet you, Bailey Pickett. I'm Dr. Henry Maps. Cody's medical doctor, that is. I'm here to evaluate Fairoaks."


	14. Chapter 14

**And now, the moment we've all been waiting for…Dr. Maps' evaluation of Fairoaks! :) I bet you've all been dying to know what our good doctor will think of the asylum he referred Cody to. Now, you can find out. Also, as for the conversation between Dr. Maps and Cody, if you're confused by what they're talking about, I suggest you re-read the end of chapter 3 because this is a continuation of that. **

**Here's some more food for thought (I meant to ask this earlier but I forgot): In the story that Cody tells Dr. Thompson in chapter 13, what do you think the cat represented? If you wish, you can refer back to it. ;) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_** series. **

When Dr. Maps walked past the threshold of Dr. Thompson's office doorway, he was hit with a stench that nearly made him gag. He recognized it immediately as body odor. Old sweat. Holding his breath, he stepped inside. He suspected that the smell was from all the patients who had been in the office after going hours without a shower; however, upon seeing Dr. Thompson, he knew exactly where the smell was emanating from—not patients. The plump Dr. Thompson sat hunched over at his desk, scrawling bulleted notes in a steno notebook (which was rather odd, given that he wasn't evaluating anyone right then); beads of sweat cascaded down his temples and his thick neck was shining with the moisture. He didn't even seem to notice Dr. Maps despite telling him to enter the room just a moment ago.

"Dr. Thompson?" Dr. Maps spoke.

Dr. Thompson finally looked up. A hospitable smile formed on his face. "Dr. Henry Maps, I take it?" he asked curtly.

"That is correct," Dr. Maps extended his hand. As Dr. Thompson stood up to take it, Dr. Maps caught sight of a rotund sweat stain in the underarm area of his suit. The two men shook very briefly, and then Dr. Thompson sat back down. He motioned toward the patient seat on the other side of his desk for Dr. Maps who, though feeling a bit awkward, sat down in it. "This is a…" Dr. Maps paused, eyeing the collection of reference books on Dr. Thompson's bookshelf. "…quaint little office, doctor."

Dr. Thompson nodded. "Thank you. I dare say I don't do much in the line of decorating, but I have all my necessities. I suppose that's what matters."

Dr. Maps nodded as well. "Indeed."

A moment of silence befell them, and Dr. Thompson broke it by saying, "I highly doubt you drove all the way over here to discuss office rooms. In the email you sent the other day, you mentioned that you wanted to speak to me about Cody Martin?"

"That I do. I want to know how he's been."

Dr. Thompson said nothing to that, but Instead, asked, "I forget names rather easily, but are you the one who oversaw his surgery and…saved his life?"

Dr. Maps thought before answering. He really didn't know if he was the one who'd saved Cody's life; he was beginning to think there had been something else—an invisible force—that was responsible for the phenomenon. Cody had died on the operating table…at least, by all scientific accounts he had. But then, inexplicably, he'd woken up. Could a doctor take credit for that? To humor Dr. Thompson, though, Dr. Maps said, "the very one."

Dr. Thompson's lower lip quivered, the way a child's does when they're intimidated. "My admiration goes to you, sir," he said, with more contempt in his tone than respect.

Dr. Maps noticed but didn't comment. "Why thank you, doctor," he responded kindly. "I appreciate that. However, I think a lot of that admiration should go to Cody's willpower. That boy has the strongest heart I think I've ever seen."

Dr. Thompson flashed him an unintentional look of skepticism. "He does, does he?"

"Yes. He is a remarkable young man. He and his brother both."

Dr. Thompson said nothing, but it was clear that he did not agree. He couldn't see how anything about a suicidal boy could be referred to as 'remarkable.' He began fidgeting with the inside of his collar, as he often did in stressful situations. That and pacing back and forth—as he did the last time Cody had visited him—were his nervous habits. "Well, I suspect you have a limited time here with your schedule. You came here to talk about Cody? Fire away."

Dr. Maps crossed his legs, making himself comfortable for the conversation that would follow. "Please tell me about his progress here so far," he began. "I was recently told that you hold sessions with him every week. How have they been?"

Dr. Thompson folded his hands on the surface of his desk. "Before I answer that, keep in mind that many new-time patients here have trust issues; we often don't get anywhere with them for a while, and we don't force them to talk to us. We wait for them to feel ready. In this facility, the patients lead. We, as doctors, allow them to do that because we want them to have as much control as possible."

"I understand perfectly, Dr. Thompson. So…Cody hasn't told you anything yet?"

Dr. Thompson sighed. "No. I'm afraid not. Nothing about his emotional problems, anyway."

"But other things?"

"Random things mostly. He makes it a habit to state what he's sees…and what he observes. But he doesn't talk about what bothers him."

"And you've been...waiting for him to talk about that?"

"Naturally. That's my job."

Dr. Maps took that in. Analyzed it. "And supposing he never wants to talk about that? What then?"

Dr. Thompson flashed him a curious, and somewhat critical, look. "What do you mean when you say 'he _never _wants to talk about it'?"

"Suppose…suppose your waiting is a waste of time. Suppose he never feels comfortable telling you what bothers him. Suppose he would feel more comfortable telling someone else. What would you do about that? I mean, I'm no psychiatrist, but I think it goes without saying that some patients don't ever come to trust their doctors…some patients just need someone else to open up to."

Dr. Thompson's expression morphed into one that said, "Like who? You?" But his actual words were: "If that were the case, the patient's wishes would be our priority. We would see to it that they be transferred to a different doctor."

"And what if the patient refused to confide in a doctor? What if they felt more comfortable talking to someone else—someone who wasn't a professional? Like a friend, or a family member."

Dr. Thompson glanced down at his still-opened notebook before him and slowly closed it. "I don't see how that would be prudent, doctor. Speaking as a man who's worked in the psychiatric department for over a decade, it has been my experience that intimate relationships are often the source of emotional problems. Therefore they should be…"

"Avoided?"

"Well…no, but…held at arm's length, so to speak. Until they're healthy enough to be resumed."

"When do you assess that they're healthy enough?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

Dr. Thompson, clearly getting annoyed, decided not to answer that question. "I'm sorry," he said disdainfully, "but what exactly are you looking for by this interrogation? Are you trying to vilify me?"

"Of course not!" Dr. Maps replied immediately. "I just feel that it is my responsibility, as the one who referred Cody to this place, to see…how this place is helping him."

"I'm Cody's doctor too, sir, and I can honestly say that I am doing everything within my power to ensure his well-being, both physically and mentally."

"I know full well who you are, doctor, so the first part of your sentence was completely unnecessary. And I do not doubt, in the slightest, that you are credible in your field. But I think I should tell you, I do not take anything at face value. As a scientist, I dig deeper than what I see. I'm sure you understand that, as a _fellow_ scientist."

Dr. Thompson's eyes were glaring daggers at Dr. Maps, but all he said was, "I do understand. I understand that with perfect clarity."

Dr. Maps continued, "So I ask again, what classifies a relationship as being healthy enough to be resumed?"

"Many factors—the patient's age, their mental status, their ability to deal with problems in a sensible way, their comprehensive capacity…things of that nature. In short, if they show they can live and function in society, they will be granted the freedom to do so."

"And if not?"

"If not, then they will be kept here."

"And I take it you have patients here like that… patients who'll be kept here for the rest of their lives."

It wasn't a question, but Dr. Thompson nevertheless said, "We do."

Dr. Maps sighed, not sure how he felt about that. He decided, however, not to dwell on it. "Apart from that, tell me a little about the facility itself. I've heard some things, but not much. What is a typical day like here at Fairoaks?"

"Well, breakfast is at nine; then it's shower time; then room time for a while, and then they get to go outside—that is, unless the weather is bad. After that, they go back to their rooms, and then they have lunch. In the afternoon, they're taken to the entertainment room; they have dinner at six; and then they go back to their rooms, and it's lights out at nine p.m. They're given six restroom breaks per day and they each have a therapy session with their doctor once a week—early in the week for newcomers, later in the week for those who've been here a while. Lifers typically have their meetings on Fridays or Saturdays."

"Ah-huh. It's good that they have some variety. Please tell me, how many different patients do you meet with during the week?"

"Five. One for every day. Since Cody is the newest of the batch, his meeting is on Monday. He's the first one I see."

"Do any of your patients give you trouble?"

"How is that relevant to Cody?"

"Stress effects attitude, doctor. And attitude effects…well, in this case, everything. Stress plays a significant role in how you conduct yourself, and your patients respond to that."

"Obviously." Dr. Thompson's fingers were instantly at his collar, fiddling with it. "Patient difficulties tend to be minor. That is—and I must be brutally honest with you—except when it comes to Cody. He is quite possibly the most colorful patient I've been ever been assigned to. But he sure is a defiant one."

"Why do you say that?"

"He…" Dr. Thompson paused and thought of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. "He speaks to me in such a way that I feel as though he's challenging me."

"Challenging you? How?" Dr. Maps did not find that unlikely. Bits and pieces of his and Cody's conversation in the hospital recovery room sped through his memory, and he could not deny that Cody had acted quite defiantly to him. Then, however, he had just failed at an intentional suicide.

"He…he's…" Dr. Thompson seemed to struggle for the right word to use.

"Yes?" Dr. Maps urged, wondering how well this doctor even knew Cody if he had no idea how to describe him.

"Insolent."

Dr. Maps stared at Dr. Thompson for a long minute after that word left his mouth. He'd never thought of Cody as insolent. Angry, yes. Confused, sure. Misguided, absolutely. But not insolent. Insolence seemed, as far as he was concerned, to have nothing to do with Cody. Insolence was a derogatory word—a word used to discredit or humiliate someone for not following standards. Granted, suicide was nowhere near a standard; but nevertheless, Dr. Maps felt that "insolent" was not an appropriate word to depict Cody. "Why is he insolent?" he finally asked.

"He rejects any amount of therapy, regardless of how much he needs it. And the funny thing is, I think he _knows _he needs it; he just has something against me…a vendetta, if you will. The way he speaks to me—I always feel like he's trying to cause a dispute between us."

"I hardly think that qualifies him as insolent."

"Call it what you will. He can be quite insufferable."

Dr. Maps rolled his tongue over his bottom lip, unsatisfied. Feeling the need for more details. "Just how does he reject therapy, doctor?" he wanted to know. "Could you explain that a bit more?"

"For example," Dr. Thompson offered, "just the other day, he told me he wanted to talk—"

"Oh, he did?"

"Yes, but he didn't tell me anything of value. He told me this morbid story that didn't have much of a point." Actually, the story _did _have a point and Dr. Thompson was fully aware of that. He merely did not want to discuss it.

"What was the story about, if you don't mind my asking?"

Dr. Thompson shook his head. "Just some little story he heard in the second grade about a bird that nearly freezes to death, but ends up getting eaten by a cat. That's all. A total waste of time."

Dr. Maps found this rather intriguing. "Did he tell you the significance of the story?"

"He said it was a representation of what's been going on in his life. Utter nonsense!"

"How is that nonsense?"

"How could a childish story—which wasn't even all that childish—represent the vastness and complexity of what he's going through?"

_Well, I don't know, _Dr. Maps inwardly answered, _but I still believe it's possible. _"Would you…maybe…tell me the story?"

"I'd really rather not repeat it, if it's all the same to you."

Dr. Maps exhaled, disappointed, and glanced down at his lap. Deftly—as his mind contemplated where to take the conversation—he straightened his crinkled pants. "Well, what else has he said?"

"Like I told you, he basically just states what he sees."

"Such as?"

"In our last session, he made note of a wasp that was buzzing in my office…made it sound like he was bringing it to my attention…when I already knew it was there. And I could tell that he knew I knew."

A wasp? "Did you once think that he might be afraid of wasps? Or allergic to them?"

This was a lie: "No. Cody never mentioned any allergies to wasps." Cody, in fact, had…and Dr. Thompson remembered it clearly. He just had no intention of admitting such a detail to a fellow doctor. Whether or not that doctor was associated with Fairoaks. Healthcare providers, be their field mental or physical, had the responsibility to ensure the safety of their patients. If they saw something that could harm a patient in any way—even something as small as a bee—they were required to take care of it. Since Cody had said that he was allergic to wasp stings, Dr. Thompson should have killed the wasp, or at least gotten it out of his office and away from Cody. Owning up to the truth that he hadn't could have resulted in his being reported and written up. The reason he had done nothing was merely because he had been busy writing notes in his notebook. A horrible excuse—not valid at all. But the truth.

"Then I suppose it makes no difference," Dr. Maps articulated. "But you mentioned that he has a 'vendetta' against you…or at least you think he does. What made you come to that assessment? How does making simple observations mean you have a vendetta? His noticing a wasp gave you the impression that he's out to get you?"

"It's not only that!" Dr. Thompson hastened to add, thoroughly affronted by the condescending tone in which he had been spoken to. "It's…it's not _what_ he says that bothers me; it's _how_ he says it."

"Please elaborate."

"It's…" Dr. Thompson gave into his over-boiling aggravation. "It's the look in his eyes!" he spat. "And the tone of his voice, and the way he smiles crookedly! I swear, this kid _hates_ me! I keep racking my brain, trying to figure out why, but I never do! I regret to say this, but I think he's a lost cause, Dr. Maps."

Dr. Maps suddenly felt an impending desire to reach over the desk and pummel Dr. Thompson. _How dare he call my miracle patient a lost cause! _He mentally screamed. _Cody's no lost cause, and if this idiot had half the sense of a good doctor—or a person, for that matter—he'd be able to see that! _"Well, thank you, Dr. Thompson, for the information," he said, striving to sound indifferent but failing miserably. "Now I would very much like to see Cody, so if you could take me to his room…"

"With all due respect, I'd advise against that."

"May I ask why?"

"He recently saw his family in the visiting room…"

"Yes, I caught them as they were leaving. I said hi to his brother and ex-girlfriend."

"Yes, well, he's just been taken back to his room, and visiting time is almost over." Dr. Thompson's lips upturned in a slight smile—a bragging smile that was meant to belittle Dr. Maps. "You should come back at another time. Besides, after seeing people who are close to him, one can only imagine what emotional state he's in. And seeing you might magnify those feelings. You did ruin his attempted suicide, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if there was still some resentment."

"I promise not to spend too much time with him," Dr. Maps insisted. "But as his medical doctor, I must examine him. That is, in fact, another reason why I came."

Dr. Thompson's sneer disappeared. "You never said anything about that in your email."

"I told you a week ago that I would make trips here once in a while to check up on him. I need to make sure he is in good condition. It's my job to do so." He bent over and picked up a black binder that he had brought with him and had situated against the front right leg of his chair. He opened it up to a chart and a list of personal questions. "I brought official documents with me, see? It's standard protocol to have him fill these out every once in a while so the hospital has records of his progress. It's just to make sure that everything with his heart is good. I'm sure you can understand that. So I _must_ see Cody, Dr. Thompson. And if you would be so kind as to bring me in contact with him, I would be very grateful."

Dr. Thompson's lower lip protruded outward in indignation. He knew he was defeated. He already had a great deal of contempt for this Dr. Maps fellow, and certainly did not want him coming in contact with Cody at all (mostly for fear of what they might talk about), but refusing to allow it would lead to a write-up for sure. Perhaps even a suspension. Thus, he leaned over towards his phone, picked up the receiver, punched in an extension, and then ordered for Cody Martin to be brought back to the visiting room.

…

Cody was taken aback when Jenny Kroft reopened the door to his and George's room and told him that he had another visitor. He thought, _first Bailey and now someone else? Dang! People must really want to see me today._

Even George was somewhat stunned. "More visitors?" he mused. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Cody…you're pretty popular today, aren't ya?" He winked teasingly.

On the way back to the visiting room, Cody thought about who his visitor was. _It's probably Zack, _he reasoned. _He's come back to speak to me in private. I knew he wanted to. While he was talking in front of our parents, and in front of Bailey, I knew that what he really wanted was to talk to me alone. Brother to brother. _The thought of that made his spirits uplift. For the first time in days. Cody wanted it to be Zack—wanted it with a sudden passion that arose out of nowhere and took hold of him, causing him to pray that he was right. He didn't know for sure. There was no way to know for sure until he saw the person. But he could hope, all the same. He could keep hoping until he was in the room and whoever it really was stood directly in front of him.

When Cody was led into the visiting room for the second time, his visitor was there before he was. Cody felt his spirits sink back down and get replaced with curiosity—if not a little bit of resentment—as he saw that it was not Zack at all. It was Dr. Maps.

"Hi Cody," he said. "Do you remember me?"

Cody remembered him perfectly well. He was the man who had, supposedly, saved him. The man who had performed a not-so-successful surgery on his fragile chest to save his life. Cody recognized him. The auburn hair streaked with gray, the same lined face…the same compassionate eyes. Cody was able to trace it all back to that day in the recovery room. It had existed, consistently, in the rear of his mind ever since then. Only this time, he wasn't lying weak in a bed. "Yeah," he said. "You're Dr. Maps."

Dr. Maps nodded and gave him a strained smile. He had to smile at Cody—still alive, after shooting himself in the chest. His miracle patient. But at the same time, he wanted to cry. A burst of pain jerked within him at seeing Cody so wan and feeble.

"What are you doing here?" Cody wanted to know.

"I came to see how you've been doing." Dr. Maps lifted up his binder, which had been sitting on the mahogany table. "And to have you fill out some documents."

"Documents on what?"

"Your surgery."

Dr. Maps took a seat in one of the chairs and motioned for Cody to sit next to him. Cody didn't particularly want to, but he figured refusing to do so would seem rude; so he pulled back the chair situated right beside Dr. Maps' and sat down in it.

Dr. Maps slid the now-opened binder over to him. "It's just some basic questions and a small chart to fill out. That's all. And while you're doing that, we can talk."

"About what?" Cody asked.

"About anything you want."

Cody looked down at the first question on the list: "Have you experienced any chronic or acute pain in your chest area since the surgery?" _Yeah, _Cody thought, _all the time. _But, of course, the emotional level didn't count for this record. So in the blank space following the question, he wrote in a no.

As he wrote and read the items on the paper one by one, he began to speak to Dr. Maps. "Did you come here because you wanted you? Or did you absolutely have to?"

Dr. Maps paused, wondering whether he should tell Cody the truth. He hadn't been expecting that inquiry, and sure as hell had not decided what to say.

As it turned out, he didn't have to say anything. His silence gave it away.

"Zack sent you, didn't he?"

Thinking it best not to argue (knowing that it would be pointless if he did), Dr. Maps answered with a simple, "Yeah."

The corner of Cody's lip curled upward in amusement. "Of course he did."

"He's worried about you," Dr. Maps explained. "He…er…he thinks I made a mistake in sending you here."

The amusement vanished from Cody's face. "You mean _all _of you made a mistake," he corrected.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My family could have done something to stop you. They could have at least vouched for me by telling you I wasn't crazy. But they didn't. I think they should share some of the blame."

Without realizing what he was doing, Dr. Maps placed his hand on the tip of Cody's shoulder. "Your being sent here was my choice, Cody. It was my call. And I take full responsibility for that."

Cody turned his head for a moment and gazed at Dr. Maps, staring through his eyes and into—what could only have been—his soul. It was tired, and worried, and filled with empathy, but at the same time angry. Angry at himself. Cody knew, with every bone in his body, that Dr. Maps would never forgive himself for his decision, had it been a wrong one. "Well," he said, a tad more gently, "if it's any consolation, I'm sure you did what you thought was best. That says a lot."

Cody had mixed feelings about ending up in Fairoaks. He hated the place itself, but there had been some good that had come out of it; he was grateful for the people he got to meet—people like Doris, and Jenny, and George. George most of all. He was fully aware of how much he would miss these people if he were to leave Fairoaks…which he had every intention of doing.

"I did do what I thought was best," Dr. Maps consented. "But I'm beginning to think your brother may be right."

"What made you change your mind?" Cody wanted to know.

"I spoke to your psychiatrist."

_Oh, that's what. _"Dr. Thompson? When?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"How'd it go?"

"It was an…interesting experience. Nothing like what I expected."

_Really? When I met Dr. Thompson, he was exactly what I expected—a manipulative bastard._ "What did you expect?"

"In one word, intelligence."

Dr. Maps and Cody looked at each other in mute understanding and agreement, and then—at the precise same moment—both of them burst out laughing.

Cody felt he shouldn't have laughed. It wasn't funny in the least. But he couldn't help it.

Dr. Maps finished laughing before he did. "However, he told me that you've been giving him trouble."

Cody didn't even think twice before replying: "I could say the same of him."

And then they both laughed again.

"I'm inclined to believe you," said Dr. Maps humorously.

"You are?" asked Cody. "Was your talk with him that bad?"

"It's not that the _talk _was bad, per se. But the fact of the matter is he's not a very proficient doctor. I know it's not wise to judge based on first appearances but, being a professional doctor myself, I believe I know a quack when I see one."

Cody let out another chuckle. Mostly at Dr. Maps' use of the word 'quack' to describe Dr. Thompson. "I bet you do," he said under his breath.

Dr. Maps had heard him. He smiled shrewdly and then pointed his finger at the unfinished document that Cody had just been ignoring. Cody turned back to it and began writing again. "Has your opinion of me changed?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Last time you saw me, you said I was disrupted…mentally disrupted. Look at me now, doctor. Do I still look that way to you?"

Dr. Maps sighed heavily. He'd been afraid that Cody was going to bring this up. He didn't blame him for wanting an explanation. But, nevertheless, he did not wish to talk about their last, and much more hostile, encounter. He was fully aware that he had to give some sort of answer though. Cody deserved that much, and for all he knew, this was his only chance to do so. "Perhaps disrupted was the wrong word," he confessed. "Then again, you did try to kill yourself. What else could I have said? Crazy? You broke the hearts of everyone who loved you. What word do you use to describe that?"

Cody said nothing to that, feeling he didn't have the right to. Instead, he switched subjects. "Zack's…changed."

"I imagine he has."

"He and I can't have a conversation without arguing…or without him getting excessively emotional."

Dr. Maps attacked that with the best explanation he could—reverse psychology. "Well, put yourself in _his _position, Cody," he instructed seriously. "How would you feel if _you_ found _him_ dying on the floor of _your_ room… right after shooting himself with _your_ gun?"

Almost instantly, Cody felt like he was going to vomit. He couldn't even picture such a thing. Trying to picture it induced a spasm of pain erupting in his already-delicate chest. "I would be scared," he said in a cracking voice. "Oh God, I would be so devastated."

Dr. Maps shot him an I-rest-my-case sort of look and Cody, despite wanting to shrink away and duck guiltily under the table, figured he needed to compliment it with his own side if the situation. "But when you're depressed," he muttered, "you don't think about that. You just think about your pain and how much you want to end it. That's all you care about…at least for the time being."

"That may be," Dr. Maps agreed. "But that simply makes it a bigger problem. I'm no psychiatrist, but I know a little about depression. It makes selfish people of us all."

"So I'm selfish," Cody deduced.

Dr. Maps nodded. He had to agree with that much. "I would say you were, doing something like that."

"You know, selfish and crazy are two different things."

Dr. Maps had to agree with that too. "They are."

They were both silent for a while and Cody finished filling out the document. When he was done, he passed the binder back to Dr. Maps and decided to speak a little more.

Dr. Maps said he needed to get back to the hospital, but Cody was curious about something and felt a relentless urge to ask him one more question.

"Dr. Maps?" he said as the doctor stood up and closed the binder.

"Yes?"

"You said you knew a little bit about depression. May I ask how?"

Dr. Maps stared at him unblinkingly. For a long moment. He eventually looked down at his watch and saw that only thirty seconds had slipped by after Cody's question, though it seemed as though two full minutes did. Finally, he told Cody the truth—something he never told anyone. "I lost someone once. Someone I loved."

Cody knew he shouldn't pry, but he couldn't help himself. "Who?"

Dr. Maps let out an unsteady, nervous breath, and swallowed. "My little brother," he said. "He was born epileptic and died in a car accident when he and I were in our twenties. He had a seizure when he was driving on an interstate, and his car swerved to the other side of the road right when a semi was passing. The police said he died instantly, but…no one was ever sure."

"I'm sorry," Cody said gently.

"Ironically," Dr. Maps added, "he's the reason I became a doctor."

Then he left and Cody waited for Jenny to come and take him back to his room. As he waited, he wondered whether Dr. Maps had told Zack about his brother.


	15. Chapter 15

**The first part of this was supposed to be at the end of the last chapter, but it was already pretty long so I decided to save it for this one. I hope it seems to fit well. It might, because the last chapter was mostly about conversations whereas this one is more about action. Everything is going to fall apart before it gets pieced back together again.**

**I'll go ahead and say this now, so no one's totally confused: even though Bailey came to Boston in the first place to help Cody, her being there is actually going to have more to do with Zack. You'll see what I mean. ;) **

**This chapter is a heart-wrenching one (though the sadness it contains is much more subtle than in previous chapters), but please read. And feel free as ever to review. **

**Disclaimer: As everyone knows, I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_**.**

As Jenny Kroft was escorting Cody from the visiting room, Cody thought intensely about his conversation with Dr. Maps. He had known, ever since his release from the hospital, that he would see him again. How could he not? The man was his medical doctor, and he had a horrendous scar that was still in the midst of healing. But whenever he had considered what they would talk about, all that came to mind was yelling. Yelling and harsh words, like before.

But this…this had been different. Cody felt pride swell in him at the notion that Dr. Maps had admitted to making a mistake. He knew well enough that the mistake had been in no way malicious; Dr. Maps was noticeably a very compassionate man. The thing that gave Cody a streak of pleasure was the fact that a doctor—a professional—had admitted to being wrong. How often did that happen? As far as Cody knew, practically never. Doctors tended to think their years of education made them faultless. They had an authority that nobody else had because nobody—not even the president of the United States, or the Supreme Court—could truly override them.

As Cody's mind wandered, he and Jenny approached the men's restrooms. Its door opened and out came a patient unaccompanied by a nurse…which was odd, considering nurses were required to stand outside the door and wait for them. Jenny felt it her duty to know why he was alone when he wasn't supposed to be, so she told Cody to stay put and came up to him.

The patient was a big man—two hundred pounds easily—with short, curly hair, a round face shadowed by dark stubble from the cheeks to the top of the neck, and a mass of biker-looking tattoos running down his arms.

Apparently, Jenny knew his name. "Where's your escort, Mr. Willner?" she asked kindly.

"Outside smokin'," the patient—Mr. Willner—said. His voice was rugged and hoarse. Cody could have sworn, simply by hearing him talk, that he was a smoker.

"Smoking?" Jenny clarified, alarmed. "Right _now_?" Now was not luxury time. The nurses could only smoke during break, and break didn't come until later.

Mr. Willner nodded and looked down at the floor, shuffling his right foot against the white tiles.

"Well…" Jenny continued. She glanced at Cody and then back at Mr. Willner, not knowing if she should take charge of a patient who wasn't her responsibility when she was already supervising another. "I suppose I can't go and leave you here, can I?"

She took Mr. Willner by the arm and said, "Come with me." Her voice was soft and, for an unmarried woman without children, motherly. "I'll take you to your room."

Suddenly, as if struck by a revelation, Mr. Willner looked down at her hand—the one clutching his arm—with an unnerving expression. His eyes widened and his lips parted, and a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a wheeze escaped his throat. At first, Cody thought the man was having a heart attack, but that proved not to be the case when he grinned mischievously and placed his own hand over hers and began to caress it.

"Now, now, Mr. Willner," Jenny warned him. "You know you're not supposed to do that."

Mr. Willner took his hand off of hers. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice so scratched it came out sounding more like "iorry." He didn't seem very sorry though.

"That's alright," Jenny assured him. "Let's just go back to your room, okay?"

She slightly pulled on his arm, encouraging him to move.

He took two steps, and then stopped. He started caressing her hand again. This time, more affectionately.

"Mr. Willner," Jenny said firmly, "what did I just tell you?"

Again, he moved his hand.

Jenny let go of his arm. Trusting him. She turned around to lead him back to where Cody stood waiting.

As soon as her back was exposed, Mr. Willner came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. She shouted: "_Mr._ _Willner!_" But he didn't let go. He tightened his grip and squeezed, causing her body to straighten and her back to arch. Her head leaned back, her face tensed, her legs kicked violently. "_Let me go!_" she begged, but he did not let her go. He lifted her petite form off the floor and held her up, suspending her. To anyone who had not heard her screams, it would have looked like he was giving her one of those "bear hugs" that people gave their close friends who didn't mind the brief discomfort.

That, however, was not what he was doing. Not even close.

The forcing of her intestines inward had rendered her body weaker. When he finally put her back down and she gasped for breath, he took the opportunity to knock her down. Just one shove against the shoulders sent her sprawling to the floor.

She quickly tried to get back up. He didn't mind her on her hands and knees, but when she tried to bring herself to her feet, he wouldn't have it. In one swoop, he brought his body down upon hers, his bulbous stomach pressing against her spine, and brought his hands around in front. Grabbing her breasts. He whispered in her ear, his rancid breath blowing in the direction of her nose. "Don't even think about getting up, darlin'. You look just fine right where ya're."

Hopelessly, she tried to pry his hands away without showing him her fear. Fear in a nurse gave a patient power—something they could use.

But Jenny was unsuccessful, and Mr. Willner was enjoying it. That is, until he felt two arms from behind him hook themselves around his chest, diagonally from each side of his neck to each side of his rib cage. And pull. Pull forcefully.

Mr. Willner rotated his head ninety degrees and peered over his shoulder, seeing that Cody Martin—who'd recently been standing in disbelief and shock—had sprung forward and was attempting to get him off of her. Mr. Willner grunted in annoyance and elbowed him in the lower stomach. Cody reeled backwards and collapsed onto the floor; his stomach and ass began to throb.

While he was down, Mr. Willner removed his hands from Jenny's breasts and worked his way down to her waist, fastening his fingers inside the pants of her uniform. Jenny tried desperately to pry them away, fully aware that he planned to pull them down.

Cody saw this and felt his blood boil. He scrambled back to his feet and attacked again, this time gripping the collar of Mr. Willner's shirt and yanking on it for all he was worth. Choking him. He knew that he could kill the man if he wasn't careful, but at that very second, he couldn't have cared less. The fucker deserved to die.

He held his breath and leaned back for support. Anger surged through him, flowing out of his pores in beads of sweat.

Blended with the anger was a sort of reckoning—similar to an epiphany. Cody had never felt this much passion before. Nor had he felt this much rage. He'd been angry plenty of times but anger and rage were two different categories. Two different levels of the same thing. One could lead to the other, if so directed. However, not necessarily. Cody had never known it was possible to have this much ferocity bottled up. When he saw Mr. Willner he saw—or at least wanted to see—a manifestation of everything that tore his life apart. Everything that made life a joke to him, and not worth living. He told himself that that's what he saw. It seemed truthful enough.

After all, he knew exactly what Mr. Willner had in mind with Jenny. And scum like that were the reason the world was ugly.

Cody pulled and pulled. It was almost mechanical, the pulling. Almost robotic. He wanted to wipe the scum off the earth. To make it pay for what it did to him. For what it did to Dr. Maps. For what it did to his family and friends. And everyone else he'd ever known and ever cared about. Mr. Willner was not responsible for the suffering of everyone; Cody knew that. But nonetheless, he had a burning desire to heap all their well-deserved retribution onto him.

Finally, the constriction of breath and blood flow became too much for Mr. Willner and he released Jenny's pants and shot upright, his hands immediately going to his collar. "Jenny!" Cody shouted while she had the chance to get away. "Go!"

Jenny crawled forward and managed to stand up. As soon as she reached a safety zone, she turned around and looked at the scene. Dumbfounded, she backed up against the far wall, crying as though what just happened had finally hit her.

Mr. Willner, furious, reached towards the back of his neck and grabbed Cody's hands. Without much difficulty, he jerked them away from his collar and then reeled around, facing him. Ready to pummel him. Cody froze with fear. _This cannot be the way I die, _he thought. He refused to let it be. Instinctively…with more force than what may have been necessary… he kicked Mr. Willner in the left shin and sent him bowling over in pain, cupping his hands around the area right below the knee.

Then he backed up and watched Mr. Willner intently.

Neither he, nor Mr. Willner, nor Jenny noticed the nurse who had recently rounded the corner of the hallway and stood there gaping. He was a male nurse—one of the few at Fairoaks—and personally in charge of Mr. Willner. He'd defied the facility's rules by sneaking out a back door to smoke a cigarette, and had returned just in time to see the last bit of the showdown: Cody tugging on Mr. Willner's collar, Mr. Willner pulling his hands away and then whirling around… and Cody kicking him brutally in the shin.

The nurse made a quick judgment as to who the guilty part was, and then came running.

Cody had no clue what hit him when he felt a pair of strong arms grab him from behind and haul him onto the floor again, this time on his side. His heart skipped a beat and his fragile chest pulsated with pain. "Hey, what the…?" was all he was able to say before he felt a sudden sting in his upper arm. He turned his head and saw a man he didn't recognize holding him in place while piercing the skin of his arm with the needle end of a fluid-filled syringe and pumping the liquid into his muscle tissue.

Jenny shouted "No, stop!" at the nurse, but it was beyond too late.

Cody only had time to gasp and shoot the man an indignant glare before succumbing to the fast-acting effects of the drug. Drowsiness took over him; his eyesight blurred; his mind went blank. And sooner than he realized what was going on, his head drooped and he began to sink…down…down…down. Into a blackness that was similar to sleep but deeper.

More like death.

…

The sun was setting as Zack drove his car down a street he hadn't seen in what felt like months. Realistically, though, it had only been a matter of days. Bailey sat in the front passenger's seat, mindlessly picking at one of her fingernails, refusing to meet Zack's eyes. She was afraid he'd be angry at her; this was her idea, after all. She was the one who'd suggested that this was what he needed, and though he had fervently denied it, here he was…doing exactly what she wanted. If there was one thing he couldn't deny, it was that Bailey knew how to make a damn good argument. She'd convinced him.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

But perhaps that wasn't the case. Perhaps he'd also convinced himself. He'd often thought about doing this on his own, before Bailey had even brought it up, but he'd always shaken the idea off. Used any excuse he could think of to avoid it. He just never felt ready enough to manage it. It was such a big step.

The deal-closer was what Bailey told him at the end of their tiff: "If you don't do it now, then when? I can't force you to do it, but keep in mind that the longer you wait the harder it's going to be." And he had to admit, for all his pride and dignity, that she was right. He could feel how right she was in the pit of his stomach. He had to do this. Sooner or later.

He'd told her his decision an hour after making it, and she had given him a smile and a hug. "I'm going," he'd said simply. "I know it'll be hard, but…you were right. I've got to do this at some point. Otherwise I might never." He still wasn't sure about it, but the warm beam she gave him and the tight embrace were enough to erase all his doubt. At least, for the time being.

But now the doubt was coming back. And it was coming back with a painful wrath. He wasn't angry at Bailey, not at all. Even though earlier he'd acted like he was. He was just scared. And tired. Both at the same time. He was scared of what he would see—blood stains? Memories?—as well as what he would feel.

Overall, he was more afraid of what he would feel.

And he was tired of the hurting. Sick of the pain that had been growing within him like a weed. He'd allowed it to grow for too long and now it was colossal and encompassed everything. It imprisoned him without mercy. He'd become a slave to it. He could feel it driving him mad—rooting out logic and reason. All that was left was emptiness. Cold, vast emptiness…there to taunt him. To remind him of everything he'd lost. Everything he wanted but could never have.

The heart can only take so much. Then it's had enough.

And his heart was on the brink of having enough.

Zack was well acquainted with pain by now. He was almost to the point of liking it. He had to like it; there was no way out of that. He had to at least tolerate it. If not, he might slip. He might try to take the easy way out, just like his brother did. But he couldn't let himself do that. That was stupid. That was arrogant. So the only other option was to befriend the pain. He figured, when it's been your companion for so long, eventually it'll have to become your friend. You invite it into you like a guest and let it stay there. You don't object when it makes itself at home.

He thought about this as he drove, the silence permitting his thoughts to wander.

It wasn't until he'd been driving a good twenty minutes or so that the silence was finally broken. He had just stopped at a traffic light and had one hand on the wheel and the other on the bottom pane of his opened window when Bailey spoke up. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to," she said.

_Great, _Zack thought, _now she tells me. _"It's okay," he replied. "I need to. I should have done it sooner."

"I'm glad you feel that way. It's just…I don't want you to think I'm forcing you to do this. Cause believe me, I'm not."

"I know that." Zack turned and gave her a pretended look of confidence, even though he was feeling anything but confident. "Trust me, it's fine."

Bailey heaved a sigh of relief. "Good to know," she remarked. "Cause I thought you'd…you know…be mad at me."

"Why would you think that?"

Bailey looked back down at her nails, searching for something to pick at. To keep her eyes from having to meet Zack's. "I don't know. I guess because it was my idea. I thought you'd hold me accountable for…everything."

Zack snorted. "You know I wouldn't do that," he said. "Besides, I've had it in mind to do this for a while now."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I knew I'd have to eventually."

"Then, why did you wait until now? Why not sooner?"

The traffic light changed from red to green and Zack moved his foot from the brake pedal to the gas pedal. Lightly, he stepped on it and sent them rolling again.

He didn't answer her immediately. "Because I didn't think I could handle it," he admitted after a short pause. "Not until I'd seen him at least. You know? Not until I knew, for sure, that he was alive. I know that sounds weird, but…how do I say this? The time that he and I spent in the hospital, it felt like a mirage. Or a dream. I felt like I was an onlooker in a nightmare. And after he left for Fairoaks, I instantly missed him."

Bailey nodded in agreement. "That makes sense," she commented.

"You don't have to humor me," Zack said doubtfully. "I know it sounds weird, especially since I was perfectly fine with him going there in the first place. I was just so certain that he needed it; I figured if he was crazy enough to do what he'd done, getting professional help was the best thing for him. But when he was gone…I don't know, it was like something in my brain just clicked. And I missed him more than I ever have before. Even more than I did when he went away to college, and _that's _saying something."

Bailey had to smile. It wasn't like Zack to get emotional about his brother around girls; he'd gotten very emotional in front of her when he'd visited Cody, but that was different. That was a different situation altogether. For one, he was in an asylum—a place known to be a very emotional—and for another, most of what he'd said (with the exception of his criticizing her for her behavior) had been directed solely at Cody, without paying attention to whoever was listening.

Zack continued as though he didn't notice Bailey's sweet smile: "That's when he became alive to me. I mean, I already knew in my head that he was alive but, for some reason, my heart didn't believe it. After he was no longer with me…it seemed like reality was staring me in the face, and there was nothing I could be sure about anymore. Everything just changed all of a sudden. It felt like waking up."

"I understand," Bailey told him, and on some level, she did. "And I'm not just humoring you; I'm being honest. Everything feels unreal when your life suddenly changes."

"I _guess_ that's it," Zack considered hesitantly. When Bailey gave him an inquisitive expression, he added, "Look, I'm still in the dark here. This is still confusing the shit out of me."

"Well maybe…maybe you're just trying to analyze it too much," Bailey suggested. "Maybe you just need to let it be."

Zack shook his head. _No. No way in hell. _"I can't."

"Why not?" Bailey was clearly getting a little annoyed now. "God, Zack, why do you feel the need to know everything? You weren't like this when we were younger. Why can't you just leave this alone? Huh? Just let it take its course."

The answer to her question was so simple that Zack almost laughed at her for asking it: "Because I'm not who I used to be, Bailey. _Everything's _changed. Everything. Even me. I'm not who I once was, and I'm never going to be that person again. Ever." As soon as he said them, he realized just how truthful those words were. And it wasn't simply because of the two identities residing within him—the old Zack and the new; it was every bit of him. At his very core, he was different. Different in more ways than one—more attentive, more analytical, more skeptical…but also more scared. One could even say he was paranoid. He was constantly afraid.

So afraid, in fact, that his fear displayed itself on his face without his awareness.

Bailey noticed it. "What's the matter?" she asked, suddenly no longer annoyed.

Zack shook his head, as if shaking could remove the emotion. "Nothing," he said.

Of course, she didn't buy it. "No, seriously," she pried. "What is it?" When he still didn't give her an answer, she got stubborn. "Zack!"

Zack exhaled slowly. _She's never going to let up until I tell her. She'll keep hounding me the rest of the way if she has to. _"I was just thinking," he confessed, "about _how_ I've changed."

He briefly glanced at her, hoping she'd be satisfied with that. Seeing that she wasn't, he continued: "I'm scared all the time. You know? I'm always scared. When you and I were younger, I used to act like nothing frightened me. But now…now I'm borderline paranoid."

Bailey seemed to take this in. To mull it over and work it out—wondering what it meant. What it could lead to. "Do you know what it is you're afraid of?"

_Yes, I know. But I don't want to talk about it, because if I do…if I do I might blow up. Right here in the car. _Zack paused for a long moment and let the question linger. He knew he would have to answer it eventually, but he didn't want to. He _really _didn't want to. The new Zack was threatening to take over and he did not want to risk that happening.

"I'm afraid that he won't be cured," he finally replied. "Cody, I mean. I want to help him—I want _him_ to help _me_ help him—but I'm not sure he will. And that terrifies me. He needs to tell me what's been going on. Not with his ex-girlfriend and all her bullshit, but…the real problem. The reason why he…" He struggled as the new Zack began clawing his way to the surface, heated and vicious as ever. "Why he…"

He couldn't finish.

Bailey felt sorry for him. _Poor guy, _she thought."It's okay," she said sweetly. "I know. You explained it all during our visit. And for what it's worth, I agree with you. The only way we can help Cody is if he tells us what's really bothering him. We can't do anything with him until he does that…except love him, but that's it. This is all in his hands."

Zack nodded, feeling pissed off all of the sudden.

For the last few minutes of their car ride, they retained silence. Accompanied only by each other's presence, and their own thoughts.

…

Zack felt his stomach tighten when he pulled into the driveway of his house. Before getting out of the car, he took a long look at it through his windshield. The days of his neglect confirmed themselves on the place like a beacon—the lights were off, which gave it an overall haunting appearance, the windows were encased in cobwebs, some animal had left tracks on the front porch, and there were toys, like a yellow truck, a doll, and a shovel, lying in his yard. He reckoned some of the kids from next door assumed he'd moved and decided to use his yard as their playground. It looked older than he remembered it. And smaller. Which made sense when comparing it to the massive Tipton hotel, where he had been staying.

Bailey reached the porch before he did. She opened the door and then stood to the side for him go in first. He walked up the steps slowly, as though it took great effort to get to the top. His gaze was fixed on his feet. He appeared to be counting each step—savoring them. Imprinting them into his memory. When he finally reached the landing of the porch, he stopped. Making no indication of moving towards the door. Bailey, feeling that something was wrong, closed it and came up to him.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Zack said, as though coming to from a trance. "Yeah, I'm coming. It's just…" he didn't know how to describe it. This porch had memories. Memories of Cody, among others. On this very porch, his brother had come to him, stood at the door, and had apologized. Apologized for the mistake he'd made—a mistake he'd been warned against. _What was it he said? _Zack asked himself, probing his brain for the exact words. _Oh yes—"You were right. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." That's what it was. _He also remembered the hug between them—a hug that had been more warm and endearing than most of the hugs they'd shared. He'd embraced Cody like he was the only thing that mattered to him, and then welcomed him into his house.

Into_ this _house.

After a moment of simply standing and thinking, Zack walked—ever so slowly—to the door. Bailey reached out her hand to open it for him, but she was too late. He reached it before she did and swung it open, paying close attention to the shrill noise made by its hinges. Recollecting how they'd made that same noise each time he'd opened the door in the past…including the time he'd opened it for Cody.

As soon as he entered the living room, it was like déjà vu. He saw Cody sitting on the sofa, telling him about Brianna and her unfaithfulness, begging him to not say "I told you so." He saw himself telling Cody that everything would be alright; that he could stay as long as he wanted to. He remembered promising to be there for him. His exact words had been: "…if you ever want to talk when I'm home, I'm here."

But he _hadn't_ been there.

He'd left when Cody needed to talk. He'd been well on his way to work. Miles away from Cody when he should have been the big brother he was supposed to be.

Zack felt the hot tears come. _This is no time to cry, Zack, _he told himself determinedly.

He tried to pull himself together. Bailey was standing next to him, watching him, and though she did not mention it, she clearly noticed the pools of moisture in his eyes. Her expression was sympathetic.

He looked at the sofa for a long time, remembering what happened before he left: his walking away, his brother's stopping him, his brother's confession of love, and his confession of love in return. Then his eyes shifted down the hall and landed on the door to his bedroom—the room he'd slept in that night. Consequently, the same room his brother had tried to take his own life in the next day. Looking at that door was too much to bear.

Zack turned away, realizing that this was actually the perfect time to cry.

Bailey glanced at the door, instantly understanding why he couldn't look at it. "It happened in there, didn't it?" she said, although she already knew the answer.

Zack nodded.

"This is what we came here for. You know that, right?"

Again, Zack nodded.

Bailey took him by the hand and led him down the hall. When they got to the door, Zack pulled himself free of her grasp and said, "I can do this." Bailey flashed him an earnest look and stepped back, allowing him access.

Zack's breath caught in his throat as he gripped the knob and turned it. The door flung open, revealing a vacant bedroom—just like any other—with an unmade bed, a bay window, a small bookshelf that was filled more with movies than books, and a bureau with piles of crinkled papers and products such as deodorant and cologne. It looked abandoned. A remnant of every day living cast aside. The bureau drawer which had contained the gun was still pulled out, forgotten in the spur of a moment. But Zack didn't concentrate on that.

His eyes went right to the floor. Images began parading through his head—images with so much gravity that he found he had to sit down. He went over to the bed, avoiding the exact spot where Cody had fallen, and took a seat. Bailey followed and sat next to him.

"You okay?" she asked.

Zack didn't know how to answer her. Physically speaking, yes, he was okay…that is, with the exception of his nauseous stomach and his failure to breathe properly. But emotionally...emotionally, he was a wreck. And a train wreck at that. The memories were agonizing. He remembered hearing the gunshot from out in the hall after calling Cody's name, and then feeling an inexplicable burst of pain in his chest. He remembered running as fast as he could into this room…

And seeing him—his little brother—lying on the floor, sucking in short, labored breaths as blood poured from the wound in his chest and soaked through the front of his shirt.

He remembered darting over to him, kneeling at his side and trying to put enough pressure on the gaping hole to stop the blood. But failing. Failing miserably and having to watch, crestfallen, as his brother's blood seeped through the spaces between his fingers and drenched his hands.

He remembered leaving him there to call an ambulance. Speaking frantically on the phone to a woman who kept asking him questions, while keeping his eyes desperately on his dying brother. Hoping. Praying. Sobbing. Withstanding both the shock of what was going on and the breaking of his own heart. Unable to decipher which was worse.

All these memories—and more—came flooding into Zack's mind like a torrent.

As they came, he wept.

He wept for half an hour, leaning forward and covering his face with his palms, before pulling himself back together. He hadn't taken any notice to Bailey's hand stroking his back. When he realized that she'd probably been doing it the whole time he was crying, he said, "You can stop now. I don't think I'm going to cry anymore."

Despite circumstances, Bailey managed a smile. "Good," she replied. "My hand's getting tired." She removed her hand and placed it on her lap.

There was a pause. Zack sniffled and wiped his eyes.

"I've never seen you like this before," Bailey remarked.

"Not many people have," Zack responded. Then he rethought that and snorted to himself. "Actually, take that back. No one has."

Bailey suddenly looked worried. "You really _aren't_ going to be your old self again, are you?"

Zack shook his head. "Things'll get better," he told her. "But they won't ever be like they were."

The worry in Bailey's face increased, combining with another emotion—despair. The despair etched itself in her eyes and stabbed him with sincerity as she looked into his. "That's what sucks most of all," she declared. "There's no going back from this. It's impossible. There's too much hurt…too much anger. In a way, I've lost you. Everyone's lost you."

Her last words almost made him cry again, but this time he held the tears back. "You haven't lost me," he assured her. He began running his fingers through her hair. "I'm right here." He leaned over and repeated that—whispering it into her ear: "_I'm right here_."

"But you're not the _same,_" Bailey argued. "You're different. I mean, I'm sure the real Zack is still in there somewhere, but you can't expect me to believe that you're the same person you were before all this. You even told me that in the car. You said you're more scared now. And there'll be a part of you that's _always _scared—that's _always_ afraid you're going to lose him again."

Zack backed away, unable to contradict that. It was spooky how she seemed to know—or figure out by logic—that he had two separate identities living within him now. He doubted, however, that she knew just how accurate she was.

"There'll always be some anger mixed in with your love for him."

That was true, and Zack couldn't deny it. But there was more to it than she knew. "I'm not just angry at _him_," he confessed. "I'm angry at myself."

Bailey was surprised by that. "Why?"

"Because…" Zack paused, unsure of how much he should uncover with her. He'd already had this conversation with his father. Was it necessary to have it with her too? _Why not? I was the one who brought her into this, wasn't I? It's only fair that I be honest with her. _"Because…what if it's my fault?"

Bailey stared at him in disbelief, unable to speak.

"What if all of this is my fault?" Zack's voice was filled with dread at the very notion of his words being true. "What if I _drove_ him to…to…?" He couldn't finish. He was going to start crying again.

"_Zack!_" Bailey exclaimed. "Zack, no! No! How can you say that? That doesn't make any sense!"

It was easy to tell she was getting mad at him. To redeem himself, he tried to explain: "It's just…I was always such a horrible brother to him. I treated him _so _badly! I used him, and lied to him, and told him I hated him." His voice cracked and he broke down again. "He deserved so much better than me! And I always knew that but I never told him."

"Zack…" Bailey said gently. But she didn't get to say anything else.

Zack exploded. "What if this has nothing to do with him? What if it's all about me? What if I'm being punished for all the times I took him for granted? For all the times I didn't treat him like a brother? He hates me, Bailey! I know he does! He says he loves me, but he really doesn't. He hates me and _that's _why he tried to leave me!"

Bailey lost it. "Zack, that's not true!" she spat. "Is that what you think his problem is? Goddamnit, I could slap you for thinking something so stupid!"

Instantly, Zack shut up. After seeing her slap Cody, he felt he was in no position to provoke her.

"Look, I don't know why Cody did this," she continued, "or if he'll ever come around to confiding in us. I won't pretend like I know him anymore because I sure as hell don't. But if there is one thing about him that I _do _know—one thing that would never change—it's that Cody loves you. I saw him tell you that just the other day in the visiting room, and I saw it in his eyes. He loves you, Zack." A split-second of uneasy silence ensued. "And I love you too."

Zack was startled by the last part. He wiped his eyes again and stared long and hard at her. Searching for any sign of deception. There was no reason why she should love him. First of all, she hadn't seen much of him since they'd been in school together. And secondly, she'd once been in a serious relationship with his brother. So there was no logical account for why—or how—she could possibly have strong feelings of love for him. That is, of course, unless she was referring to a strong friendship love. Which was the only type of love he'd ever known from her.

In her eyes, however, he saw only honesty. Raw, pure honesty.

Her eyes seemed to beckon to him, like a signal, and—before he knew what he was doing—Zack found himself lowering his head, tilting his face so close to hers that their lips were almost touching. He stopped himself there, as doubt and reasoning crept into him. _Wait, wait…what am I doing? This isn't right. She's my brother's ex! _But he didn't have much time to dwell on them because Bailey took his reaction as a sign and leaned in the rest of the way, pressing her lips against his.

Hers were tender and glossy; his were chapped, and rough from crying. But they kissed nevertheless. Kissed like long-lost lovers. Like this part of their lives was a romance in disguise. Like this was the reason they'd come to the house in the first place. Even though it wasn't.

Neither of them knew why they were doing this—whether it was an act of carefully evaded love, a spontaneous moment of passion…or merely a result of pitiful need.

But whatever it was, they went with it.

They clashed like fire and ice. Opposites melting each other. Electrified. Magnetic as the north and south poles.

Bailey clutched the sides of Zack's head and forced his face closer to hers, shoving her tongue into his mouth. Intertwining it with his. Tasting his saliva. Breathing in his carbon dioxide. Slowly, her hands slid from his head to his neck, and from there to his shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder blades, enfolding him like a child, and then slipped them around to his chest. She undid the top button on his shirt…

And then something inside of him snapped and he pulled his head away from hers. "We should go," he said.

She looked at him. Seeing that the spark—whatever it had been—was gone now. "Okay," she agreed.

They got up off the bed, and then left the room.

…

On the way back to the Tipton, Zack couldn't stop thinking about what they'd done. He kept asking himself, _What the hell was that?_ Hoping that if he asked it enough, the answer would pop up somewhere in his consciousness and he could make sense of it all. He certainly had not seen it coming, and he wasn't convinced that Bailey had either; every time he stole a glance at her, she flashed him an awkward smile. A smile that said, "I don't know if I like what we did, but I'm going to act like I do so I don't freak you out."

The whole thing had been so bizarre. So impulsive. So animalistic.

Zack felt guilty about it, but he honestly couldn't comprehend why. Was it the fact that she was Cody's ex-girlfriend? The fact that they'd kissed in the same place where Cody had shot himself? The fact that they'd found pleasure in a time of grief?

A combination of all three?

Zack considered that idea. _It's definitely possible. _

Then he was struck with a jolting realization—something that should have hit him before: _Come to think of it, probably the most amazing—or at least the most peculiar—aspect in what happened between Bailey and me is that the old Zack had been in charge._

The old Zack, filled with sense and reason and empathy, had been in the driver's seat when he and Bailey kissed. The new Zack, clouded by anger and ruthlessness and impulse, had been nowhere in sight.

_I did this on my own. This was me. The real me. _

Zack did speak to Bailey before they arrived at the Tipton's parking lot. He didn't mention the kiss, but he mentioned everything else. He thanked her for getting him to come back home and sit in that painful bedroom. And he thanked her also for coming with him.

"You're welcome," she said in return, giving him a smile that was more genuine.

Zack managed to crack one too.

They spoke about other things as well. Things that had nothing to do with Cody or this dilemma—like Zack's construction job, and the new friends he'd made, and adult life in general. Zack told her about his last days at the Tipton before getting his house, and Bailey talked on and on about her little farm in Kansas and the welcome back party she'd been given after graduating "Seven Seas High."

They were acting happier by the time they pulled into the Tipton parking lot. As they walked toward the building, they were even laughing. Bailey was telling stories about her family and Zack thought they were positively hilarious.

He was beginning to think the remainder of the day would go smoothly.

It wouldn't.

His hope of having a good day vanished without a trace when he spotted his father standing outside the Tipton's entrance with a cell phone in his hand and a grim look on his face. _No, _he thought. _This can't be good. _

Bailey didn't see Kurt until Zack pointed him out. When she became aware of him, standing there as though he'd been told the world was ending, her happiness disappeared as well. "Let's go," she told Zack, and they both took off in a sprint to meet him, avoiding any on-coming vehicles that were driving across the lot.

"Dad?" said Zack as soon as they got to him.

"Mr. Martin?" Bailey added.

Up close, Kurt's face was even grimmer than it looked from a distance. There were tears in his eyes. "Zack, Bailey…" he said shakily, "I just got a phone call from Fairoaks."

Zack felt horror conquer every other emotion inside him as he already knew what this meant. "Oh no," he gasped. "Cody."

Kurt took a second to compose himself. And then he broke the news: "Something terrible's happened."


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm sorry for not updating this in, like, forever and ever amen. Have I lost some readers? (Probably!) I've been insanely preoccupied; only now, after volunteering at my mom's job (she takes care of disabled people), going to the dentist, helping my parents install a new dryer, getting sick with flu, and of course, worrying about college financial issues, have I managed to post chapter 16. :) **

**I realize that chapter 15 took people by surprise…which I actually intended, so I'm pleased. Keep in mind that the story is wrapping up, so everything from here on out is pretty much the climax. I think this chapter will catch people off guard too. :) For one thing, it goes further into the mind of Dr. Maps. Please take into account that, overall, the last part of this chapter is the most important part! What George does will be crucial later on!**

**Have fun reading the chapter! And please let me know what you think! ;)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_** series.**

When Cody managed to come to, the first thing he saw was Jenny Kroft staring down at him with a tear-streaked face and flushed eyes. Her lips were moving and he could hear her voice reverberating in his ears, but he could not, for the life of him, make out her words. He listened hard, drowning out the irksome shriek of the ambulance's siren as it sped through town, but was still unable to decipher what she was saying.

She was caressing his face with a cool, damp cloth, and he took comfort in that—in the soothing sensation of coldness against his burning skin.

Though he knew he was alive and awake, and as existent as he'd always been, he felt strangely detached from his surroundings. Enshrouded by a miasma of dimly-lit reality. His body felt like dead weight; his arms were burdens at his sides, his stomach and chest were hollow. He was there but not there. Like a phantom.

_But…this can't be me, _he denied. _Not this shell of a person lying here, limp and useless as a corpse. Just moments ago everything was different. I was different. I was saving Jenny and letting my rage take over. Knowing myself in a way that I've never known myself before. Feeling strong, and unstoppable. _

_And now…in the blink of an eye, with the prick of a fucking little needle…I'm reduced to this! A breathing corpse! I might as well be in a coma! _

For a moment, he thought maybe he was in a coma, but his mind quickly contradicted that. He knew he was conscious. He felt too animate—too present—to be otherwise. Plus, he couldn't argue against what was right there in front of him: Jenny at his side, touching a cloth to his head.

He opened his mouth to speak to her, but nothing came out except drool. He hadn't realized until now that his mouth was overflowing with saliva. Jenny wadded up the cloth and used it to wipe the dribble from his chin. She turned to set it down somewhere out of his sight, and then turned back and looked at him. She stared at him for what seemed like five whole minutes. Taking him in, her face indicating contemplation. Fresh tears filled her eyes; he watched, mutely, as they glided down her cheek bones and halted at her jaw line, knowing that they were for him. A twinge of guilt nudged at him and he wanted so badly to tell her he was sorry for making her cry.

But then, as though struck by a revelation, he was suddenly hit with the overwhelming gravity of the situation—someone he hardly knew was crying for him. Never would he have expected something like that. He was nobody. Nobody special, anyway. He understood loved ones like Zack, and his parents, and Bailey crying for him…but not people like Jenny. People he didn't even know beyond a profession.

He tried again to speak, but failed and gave up. So he looked at her, speaking to her with his eyes. Thanking her—for taking care of him, and for treating him nicely ever since he came to Fairoaks, and for crying over him now…and for trying to stop that male nurse from sedating him in the first place. Even though he was suffering the consequences, the fact that she'd been too late didn't matter to him; what was important was that she'd tried.

After a while, he felt the strong urge to swallow, but due to drug-induced inertia, couldn't seem to force any saliva down his throat. He attempted several times, but then thought, _to hell with it_, and laid back in discomfort.

And then later, he started to feel a dull pain in the small of his back. He had no idea where it came from and couldn't muster enough strength to adjust his position in the stretcher. Having to endure it, he gave Jenny a pleading look, hoping against fateful hope that she would get the hint that he was in need of her assistance.

He saw her lips move again. This time more frantically. She began to run her fingers through his hair and that helped. Not much, but enough for him to ignore the ache and relax.

He closed his eyes and let his mind meander through the past. In particularly, the recent past. He thought about the incident between Jenny and Mr. Willner—how sporadic it had been, and how, just moments prior, he and Dr. Maps had established a truce. He thought very deeply about this truce…about its outcome. They had both decided that Cody wasn't crazy, but selfish, and that he never once belonged in Fairoaks. _Poor guy, _Cody thought sympathetically. _His decision to send me to that place will haunt him until the day he dies…and he can't afford to be haunted anymore. The man's already got enough ghosts in his closet with what happened to his brother. He doesn't need regrets about me in addition. _

_I bet he'd freak if he saw me at the hospital. _

…

"Easy there. Now this won't hurt a bit." Dr. Maps approached the frightened little girl gradually and bent down to her level, smiling in reassurance as he held up a pair of small scissors and a pair of forceps.

"What are _those_ for?" she asked, eyeing them nervously.

"For taking out your stitches," he answered. "Now I'm going to need you to hold out your arm for me, okay? Can you do that?"

The girl flashed him an I-can-but-I-won't sort of look and quickly withdrew her arm. Cleaning the wound with the antiseptic was one thing, but scissors were different—they meant cutting. There was no way. Her mother, upon whose lap she was sitting, gave her a little nudge in the back for encouragement and said, "Go on, sweetheart. You heard the doctor. Hold out your arm."

She shook her head vigorously.

Her mother nudged her again. "Annie! The doctor told you it wouldn't hurt, so there's nothing to be afraid of. Just hold out your arm and it'll all be over."

She shook her head again, this time more vigorously, and started whimpering.

"Annie, honey, I don't have all day. Those stitches need to come out sometime, and if you don't hold out your hand by yourself, _I'm_ going to have to hold it out for you. Now which is it going to be?"

Annie's whimpering increased. She cradled her stitched arm against her chest and buried her face into her mother's shoulder.

Dr. Maps felt a pang of sympathy envelope his heart. He loved children but often found it difficult to operate on them because of how scared they became of him. In their minds, doctors were bad guys. And eight-year-old Annie Minnick was no exception to that rule.

"Annie…" he spoke softly, "I _promise_ you that this won't be painful. I'll have those stitches out faster than you can count to ten."

Annie made no attempt to cooperate.

Dr. Maps tried even harder: "Annie, you're a strong girl. I know you are."

"That's right," her mother chipped in, pulling her untidy hair out of her face and wrapping it around her ear. "You know how you keep telling everyone you're a big girl now? Well, it's time for you to prove that. Show me that you're a big girl."

Slowly—ever so slowly—Annie turned her face away from her mother's shoulder and looked back at Dr. Maps, inquisitively. Searching for any sign of trustworthiness in this supposed enemy. Doubtful, yet also hopeful. Hopeful enough to look in the first place.

Dr. Maps took that as progress and used it. "Yes," he urged. "Show mommy how big of a girl you are. Show mommy you're a brave girl. You're a brave girl, aren't you? Think of what all your friends will say when you tell them you held out your hand all by yourself." He paused, figuring some leverage was in order. "Tell you what—if you do this for me, I'll go down to the cafeteria and get you some ice cream."

That won her over. "Okay," she said, faintly but with resolution. She extended her arm.

Dr. Maps took hold of it with one hand and held the pair of scissors in the other. He felt her arm jerk automatically as he brought the scissors down close to her flesh. "I'm just going to cut the string, Annie," he told her. "But you need to stay still."

The little girl cringed but managed to hold her arm steady. Unable to watch, she turned her face away from the scene. Her mother rubbed her shoulder affectionately and she drew comfort from her touch.

There were six stitches in all. One by one, Dr. Maps snipped their bound threads in half. Exposing a recently-healed gash. After he was done, he put the scissors down and picked up the forceps. He could hear Annie catch her breath at the sensation of the pincers pulling on one of the loose threads. "It's alright, Annie," he said tenderly. "Just keep holding still."

He gave a single tug and the thread came out. That was one. He placed the extracted thread down, and then pulled out another one. That was two. He kept going until all six were out. The last one was a little tougher because the thread was longer, and Annie yelped a little, but he managed to pull it out without too much difficulty. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "That was the last one. You're done."

Annie looked at him in surprise. "I'm done?"

Dr. Maps nodded. "Yes ma'am, you're done. I just need to wash it one more time, but that's it. Will you let me do that?"

Annie nodded enthusiastically, her eyes brightening at the notion of the hard part being over.

Dr. Maps went to the other end of the room to retrieve the antiseptic cleaner, which was lying on the counter top next to the sink, as well as a cotton ball. When he was equipped with both, he walked over to Annie and asked her to hold out her arm again. This time, she obeyed without any hassle.

It only took around four seconds to clean the wound. "There," Dr. Maps said when he had finished. "Now all that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Annie shrugged. "I guess not."

Dr. Maps had to giggle. She was so cute. "Well, then I _guess _that's good."

"Can I go now?" She seemed eager to leave. Naturally. What kid liked being in a hospital?

"Well that depends," Dr. Maps said with a smirk. "Do you still want your ice cream?"

"Yeah!"

"Then no, you can't go just yet." Dr. Maps winked at her. Then he looked up at her mother. "Is it alright if you guys stay here for a few minutes while I run down to the cafeteria real quick?"

"Sure," her mother replied.

Dr. Maps took off his gloves and tossed them into the trash can next to the bed. "I'll be right back," he told Annie with a confident smile as he strolled out of the room. Then he was gone. He used the nearest elevator to go down to the cafeteria, stopping along the way at a restroom and going inside to pee. When he was finished and had washed his hands, he quickly inspected himself in the mirror, mentally accusing himself of pulling too many 12-hour and 16-hour shifts, and then walked out.

The ice cream bar in the cafeteria was about to close but Dr. Maps made it in time to buy a double scoop of chocolate fudge in a cone. The man behind the counter, who Dr. Maps only knew as "Bill," smiled at him in understanding of the occasion. "Another little tyke, eh?" he asked.

Dr. Maps grinned in response and nodded.

"You keep bribing kids with ice cream, pretty soon I'm gonna sell out. Course I ain't too worried about that, so long as I'm gettin' paid."

"I wouldn't exactly call it _bribing_," Dr. Maps said defensively, though he knew perfectly well that it was. "I prefer to think of it as encouragement."

Bill raised an eyebrow, but resumed his voyeuristic smile. "Think of it however you will. Back in my day, a bribe was a bribe. But you know, you got nothin' to be ashamed of. You do what you can for those younguns. Hell, most _parents_ even bribe their kids; it's the only way to get 'em to do shit." He handed Dr. Maps the ice cream cone. "Here ya go."

"Thanks Bill," Dr. Maps said.

He gave Bill a tip and then went back to the elevator. On the way up, he thought about what Bill had said and thought to himself, _Well,_ _whatever works. _

Annie was thrilled when she received her treat. As soon as the cone was in her hands, her tongue was gliding all over it. Lapping it up like a dehydrated dog.

"Slow down, Annie!" her mother demanded. Then she gestured over toward Dr. Maps. "Now what do you say to the nice doctor?"

"Thank you!" burbled Annie through a mouth full of melting ice cream.

"You're very welcome, young lady," Dr. Maps replied kindly.

"Okay Annie, I think it's time for you and me to hit the road," Annie's mother remarked. "Your father will be home in a few hours and I promised him I'd have dinner ready by the time he came in." Annie hopped up off her mother's lap and her mother stood up behind her, taking her by the hand. "Thanks again, Dr. Maps," she said, acknowledging the doctor. "I know usually you don't deal with minor things like stitches, but Annie doesn't like going to the health clinic down town. She doesn't like the people there. When we told her about having to get her stitches taken out, she specifically asked for you."

Dr. Maps felt his heart swell to twice its size. "That's very flattering, Mrs. Minnick," he stated. "Thank you for bringing her. I assure you, it was no problem at all. I'm always happy to see Annie."

He shared a mutual smile with Annie's mother—a warm smile of gratitude—before the woman turned her attention back toward her daughter, who now had a chocolate beard dripping down her chin, and said, "Okay dear, let's go get you cleaned up and in the car."

Then she and Annie left, leaving Dr. Maps in the operating room by himself. Feeling suddenly fatigued, he collapsed onto the bed and sat with his elbows on his knees for a long time—thinking. Thinking about his day and all it had thrown at him: a bewildering visit to Fairoaks that had shattered his hope of Cody getting better through psychology (Dr. Thompson was a fake if he'd ever seen one); a talk with Cody that had been pleasant yet unnerving, with him having to bring up the painful memory of his little brother's death; a call from his ex-wife who thought it necessary to remind him of his son's 14th birthday two weeks in advance; and now this—a wave of exhaustion.

_Today has certainly been an interesting day, _he mused. _To say the least. And for a surgeon, that _is _saying something._

He immediately started to think of Cody—his miracle patient. The one who brought back a sense of belief into him…a belief in things beyond the visible and tangible. A belief in things that science had no name or theory for. Not exactly a belief in God, but a belief in unexplained phenomena for sure.

Cody gave him back his faith…which he had lost many years ago, on the day he found out his brother wasn't coming home.

Thinking about Cody soon led to recalling what Dr. Thompson had said about him—that he was insolent, and insufferable, and that he had some sort of a vendetta against him.

Dr. Maps shook his head, trying to dislodge the surge of anger that was assembling itself within him. _How could anyone say such things about Cody? He has his faults, just like anyone…but insolent? Insufferable? Heavens no! Despite his inner turmoil and unwillingness to embrace life, he seems like a genuinely sweet boy. Just a little lost is all. Just a little on the wrong track. _

_And to set him on the right track, I sent him to Dr. Thompson. Well, to Fairoaks actually. Dr. Thompson's being his therapist had nothing to do with me. But…at the end of the day…what does it matter? I might as well have tied his hands and forced him into that man's office. _

Dr. Maps felt his eyes well. _I handed him over to a lunatic, when I probably could have helped him myself. _He sucked in a deep breath of fresh, chemical-smelling air. Pulling himself together. _Tomorrow I'm going to call his brother, Zack. I'm going to tell him about my visit…tell him that he was right. _

_And that I'm so, so unbelievably sorry. _

After a while, Dr. Maps could no longer bear to think about Cody…or about Fairoaks. So he thought about Annie and the rewarding fact that she had asked for him specifically to remove her stitches; he thought, too, about how her mother had chosen to drive all the way to the hospital rather than the health clinic to make her daughter happy, even though the clinic was closer to where they lived.

Annie was rather an unfortunate little girl; she'd been born prematurely with a heart defect and had underwent a series of four major surgeries throughout her eight years of life—all of which Dr. Maps had presided over. She was shy, and for the most part hesitant, but she was also bright-eyed and full of optimism. With so many ideas for what she would do when she grew up. All her shortcomings considered, she was a normal child. She despised going to the hospital, especially since she'd spent way more than her fair share of time there. However, she always preferred going there than to the health clinic, where the staff consisted mostly of CNA-in-training teenagers and young adults who hadn't the faintest idea how to deal with children.

Even though being a doctor made him an enemy, Annie wanted him over any other health care professional. Even when it came to small operations that surgeons like him rarely performed.

Dr. Maps was comforted by that.

He wasn't at ease for long. Just minutes following his thoughts of Annie and her misfortunes, there came a lady's voice on the intercom: "Dr. Maps," it said indifferently, though he knew a person was speaking, "please report to room two-fifteen B immediately." Then it repeated itself: "Dr. Maps, please report to room two-fifteen B…_immediately._" The last "immediately" surprised him.

He jumped off the bed and bolted out the door. Room 215 B was an elevator ride down to the next floor, as well as two hallways, a staff lounge, and a waiting room away. He ran as fast as he could, slamming into the elevator so fast he hit its back wall. When he was one floor below and the doors opened, he dashed out and rushed down the first hallway, making a sharp right turn at the end. He past the staff lounge and headed, from there, toward the second hallway. By the time he reached the end of that and found the room, he was out of breath but still determined.

Part of him knew, even before opening the door and sprinting inside, that it was Cody who'd been brought in. Nevertheless, when he actually saw him, his heart sank.

…

Zack slammed his foot against the gas pedal, sending his car roaring down the street. He was going way over the speed limit and kept telling himself to slow down (with his luck there'd be a cop behind him at any minute), but he never did. The more his brain told his foot to ease up off the gas, the harder his foot pressed. It was as if his body was defying his better judgment. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing. _Thank God_, he thought. He couldn't afford to get pulled over right now.

Aside from that small measure of relief, however, he was fuming. The old Zack was in control, but fury possessed him completely. A searing fury that wouldn't die down no matter how much he told himself to be rational.

His mind kept replaying what had happened after he and Bailey had met his father outside the Tipton. His father's voice had been feathery—noticeably on the verge of breaking into sobs—as he'd given them the news: "Cody was in a fight."

Bailey had gasped horribly, and Zack had demanded to know what kind of a fight.

"A physical fight," his father had replied dismally. "And he was hurt. Two nurses were involved. The lady who called—she said that one of the nurses told her it wasn't Cody's fault; this patient was left alone and he attacked her. Cody was just trying to help." He paused. "He got sedated for it."

Bailey had put her hands over her mouth. "Oh my God!" she'd gasped.

"But he's okay, though, right?" Zack had asked determinedly. "Just a few scrapes, that's all…right?" Cody had to be okay. He just _had_ to. He wouldn't leave him like this—not after they'd been through so much.

Kurt had glanced back down at his cell phone, looking at it as though he wondered if it was even real. If any of this was real. And hoping, with every bone in his body, that it wasn't. "The whole thing was just a misunderstanding!" he spat. "And that's what sucks the most about it. It was all just a big motherfuckin' mistake! My Cody didn't do anything wrong! Fuck, he was trying to help somebody! Last time I checked, that was a _good_ thing! He didn't deserve to get beat to the ground by some dipshit nurse who only saw half the fight and then shot up with fucking Thorazine! I mean, where does it say that the innocent party gets the punishment, huh?"

Zack had been able to tell that Kurt was pissed—that he was about to lose it completely. And he could understand why. After Cody tried to kill himself, Kurt didn't know what to do; it's not every day that a father has to come to terms with his brilliant son's arcane disregard for life. Kurt had. He'd panicked, and paced back and forth, and chain-smoked, all the while staying in a constant state of puzzlement and devastation. And now, he was faced with this—a blunder that was _not _Cody's fault but had become his problem.

And a bad problem at that.

"They had to call an ambulance, you know?" Kurt had said next. He'd gulped and winced at his sore throat. "Cause with Cody's weak heart…who knows what the Thorazine…what the Thorazine will…what that damn drug will…" He couldn't finish.

He didn't have to. As soon as those last words escaped his mouth, Zack had darted from the entrance of the Tipton, through the parking lot, and got back into his car. Without saying anything as to where he was going or what he planned to do. He'd practically floored the gas and sent the vehicle squealing down the street, leaving skid marks.

_They probably think I'm on my way to the hospital, _Zack thought while still trying desperately to control his speed.

But that _wasn't_ where he was going.

He almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Where he was going, no one would ever guess. They'd think the first place he'd head to would be wherever Cody was…which would normally have been true, but this was far from a normal circumstance.

Instead of going on the bypass, which would take him almost directly to the hospital, he went straight—down the long, curvy road where Fairoaks Asylum stood smack-dab in the middle of town, about ten miles or so before the road and the end of the bypass intersected.

Only one thing was on his mind. Well, two things actually. However, one—Cody—would be taken care of. The other had to be dealt with personally.

_Fairoaks Asylum needs a little taste of its own medicine. _

_And who better to give it to them than me, Cody's twin brother?_

…

Cody awoke a second time to find himself strapped to a hospital bed. His first thought: _Not again! _But his next thought was completely different—a 180-degree flip of his feelings. He could feel, on some intuitive level, the needles in the veins and the fluids being pumped into his body. He didn't know what they were, but they gave him the sensation of flying.

Flying…while detained on a bed. Pretty spectacular.

He felt weightless, like a bird. He instantly remembered the bird from the story he'd told Dr. Thompson and thought for a second that maybe he became that bird. _Can't let myself freeze to death…can't let myself freeze to death… Got to watch out for the cat! _

The cat was lurking somewhere beneath him, but he didn't have to worry about that because he was flying. He was soaring. He was far away, from everything and everyone. From every restraint known to man. Consoled by his detachment.

He wasn't aware that his solid body was being drained by pumps and pipes connected to his skin, or that strangers were scurrying around him, paying special attention to his chest, because he didn't need to know. He was free. His eyes started to close, and then reopen, and do the same thing over and over again. In an effortless pattern: close, open, close, open, close, open…it was as if they had a personality all their own and couldn't make a decision. One moment, they wanted to take in all that was happening; then the next, they begged for closure and darkness.

Nothing could keep them closed, however, once he saw the light.

The light shimmered above him, like a light bulb about to die out, but then blasted him, full-throttle, in the face. A mass of white, ember, and gold. Nearly blinding him, but at the same time making him so hopeful. It was beyond words. An experience in itself. Cody felt whole. At peace. The light was so bright that he could feel it shining in every piece of his being, uplifting him like a current, letting him float on top of it.

He heard a voice whisper. Only…perhaps it didn't whisper. Perhaps it spoke, loud and clear but sounded like a whisper. He didn't care though; he heard it well enough: "Cody? Can you hear me? Blink your eyes if you can hear me."

Cody didn't want to do anything with his eyes except stare at the light. But he figured if he didn't blink sooner or later, whoever had spoken would assume that he was deaf. Or dead. One or the other.

So he blinked.

Once.

The speaker sighed and sounded relieved when they spoke again: "Thank you! Jesus Christ, thank you!"

Shortly thereafter, another voice chimed in—a lighter, more high-pitched voice. "Do you think we can take him off the IVs now?"

The initial voice replied. "Yes, I think so."

Moments later, he felt pushes and pulls on his arms and torso. Pinpricks. The needles being removed. At first, Cody was grateful for that, thinking he would have more freedom and could fly longer. But as soon as the fluid stopping dripping into his veins—as soon as the spikes were out of his skin—his light began to fade.

He panicked. _Nooooo!_

He tried to lift himself back up and fly again, never realizing for one second that he was pressing against the sides of his bed, physically looking as though he had just convulsed. Hands forced him back down, rubbing his face, gripping his shoulders, but he fought against them. He twisted and turned, trying with every ounce of strength he could muster to scream.

Finally, he gave up and lay back down. He started sobbing as the light became dimmer and dimmer, revealing to him a bleak, shadowy world which he knew he could not turn away from. His descent. He felt more hands groping him, more voices murmuring into the fuzz that was his reality; he even thought he felt wet lips leave a kiss on his temple.

He felt as though he was falling backward. _Through space and time, _he considered,_ regardless of how overused that phrase is. _He was plunging from grace and heading towards—what looked to be—hell. The foreboding land of the murky unknown. The grassland, where the helpless bird can't fly. Where the cat prowls, waiting for prey.

And all the while, his light disappeared.

It kept disappearing until it was gone…and Cody was left in the dark.

…

George had no reason to believe that Cody wouldn't come back. Even after visiting time was over. A number of things could happen between the walk to the visiting room and the walk from it—restroom breaks, meeting up with talkative nurses in the hallway, accidents…any of these and more. So George wasn't alarmed when it was a few minutes past the end of visiting time and Cody still had not been brought back into the room.

He waited for him patiently, using the slow-passing time to examine his fingernails and scratch the dandruff off his scalp. He needed a shower, badly. He'd taken one that morning but was already feeling grimy and gross. During shower time, there had been a scuffle in the stall next to his which had ended in him getting pulled out of the shower for the sake of his safety, without getting the chance to wash his hair. He'd scrubbed his body, thank goodness, but even that didn't make much of a difference now; the heat in the room was causing him to sweat. And stink. _Damn it! _he thought. _I won't get another shower until tomorrow…which means I'm gonna have to sleep in this gunk. Ain't that just peachy?_

Once he'd inspected every single one of his fingernails multiple times, he slipped off his socks and began working on his toenails. Which were much nastier. They were uneven and needed to be shortened. A nurse was supposed to clip them weeks ago, but somehow whoever was responsible for doing that had forgotten all about it. Now it probably wouldn't get done for months. Only the suicidal patients—which George was not—got frequent nail clippings. They were to prevent them from scratching at themselves.

_Hmm…maybe I could ask Cody to mention me to the nurse whenever he gets his clipping._

After his toenails had all been scrutinized (and grimaced at), he leaned back against the wall up against which his bed was situated and started to hum. Simple tunes at first, but more intricate ones as time sailed by. He closed his eyes and tried to eliminate all thoughts from his head except for those songs. It wasn't hard; he was good at focusing his mind. And music was such a lovely thing to focus on.

George had never told Cody this—or anyone for that matter—but he was quite the fan of classical music. One of his elementary school teachers had introduced him to it and he'd loved it ever since. What he mostly found appealing about it was the lack of lyrics; even the ones that had lyrics, such as Mozart's _Requiem_, were not dominated by their lyrics—their real power was in their instrumental brilliance. Forcing the listener to feel the song, rather than just hear it. Doing such was art in itself. Equivalent to soul-searching.

He was in the midst of humming Mozart's _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik _when the door to the room was unlocked and opened, revealing a short nurse with red, frizzy hair standing right behind the threshold. She had a solemn look about her, with puckered lips, furrowed eyebrows, and eyes that were so penetratingly sinister they chilled his bones.

He knew who she was. Nurse Helen Richards, or—as some patients liked to call her—Red-Head Richards. The lady of fire, and not just because of her hair; she was an all-around ball of fire. Hot-tempered and sharp-tongued. The first thing George noticed about her, other than her not-so-new grave exterior, was the fact that she was carrying his medication—one cup filled with water and another with a single pill inside. "It's time for your Depakote, George."

George had almost forgotten about his Depakote. "Ah, yeah…so it is."

Nurse Richards walked inside, stood before him, and handed him the cup with the pill in it.

George took it. "So, why do you get the pleasure of bringing it today?" he wondered. "Usually it's the Jenny girl who does."

"You mean Nurse Kroft," Nurse Richards corrected him sternly. "She's not here right now."

"Did she get the day off?"

"No." Nurse Richards sighed heavily. "She rode to the hospital with your roommate."

George was hit with a jolt of profound surprise. "Cody went to the hospital?" he asked, his voice showing far more sympathy than he was used to. "Why?"

"He was in a fight."

George was struck with more surprise. "Did he get the shit beat out of him?" _So Mr. I-Have-Secrets was in a fight…and lost. Shit. Tough break. He's no doubt going to need to recover his pride. _

Nurse Richards glared at him. "You will not use that kind of language in my presence," she ordered, obviously referring to his use of the word "shit." "Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," George replied quickly, but then went on to ask, "What happened? Who'd he fight with?"

"Another patient," Nurse Richards answered, "but that's not why he was rushed to the hospital." She stopped for a moment, not sure if she should tell him the rest, but then decided to go ahead. "He was rushed to the hospital because a nurse made a miscalculation and injected him with Thorazine…Thorazine that was not intended for him. And in his case—considering how fragile his heart is—who knows what affects that drug will have on him? He could die."

For the first time in he couldn't remember how long, George felt like he was going to throw up. _Cody…die? Cody, my roommate…my first real friend…might die? _George swallowed and shook his head, trying to stabilize himself and get a grip. _He won't die. He's too headstrong for that. He's my boy—the one who sticks it to the man, like me. The fighter. The guy who didn't even go down from a bullet in his chest. _"And if…if he does die…" George was almost taken aback by how much it hurt to say that (given that he'd grown accustomed to burying his emotions). "What then?"

Nurse Richards sighed. "Well, hopefully it won't come to that," she declared. "But if it does, I suspect we'll have a lawsuit on our hands. Manslaughter, and negligence. As it is, the nurse who injected him is being fired. That's bad enough…especially since it was an accident. He only saw part of the fight; he thought Cody was the one acting up. He made a wrong call. Getting fired from his job is punishment enough; he sure doesn't need criminal charges to top it off."

George found it interesting how she'd referred to the nurse as a "he." "Wait, was the nurse a man?" he questioned.

Nurse Richards nodded.

_Than the patient must have been a dangerous one—a sex offender, probably. They have to be watched by men. _

"So…how did he make a miscalculation exactly? What was the fight even about? Do you know? Do you know how it got started?" George couldn't deny that he was genuinely worried. He felt as though he _had _to get answers. He _had_ to know the truth about what had happened with Cody.

Nurse Richards shook her head, thinking the whole thing over for herself. "Cody just had to be the hero," she said. "Jenny could probably have handled herself, but Cody just had to be a hero."

George knew what she was talking about. He looked down at his feet. Taking all of this in. _So the Jenny girl was sexually assaulted. Poor woman. And Cody tried to help her. He tried to save her, and now he might die for it._

_No, don't think like that. You already said so yourself, he won't die. He's your first real friend, and he knows that. He wouldn't give up on you…even though everyone else has. He's different. He's Cody Martin—the one who doesn't give up. The one who knows the right thing to do and does it. The one who risked everything to put a sick bastard in his place. The hero. _

_But that still doesn't explain the miscalculation. _

Nurse Richards seemed to have read his last thought. "It was a misunderstanding," she explained. "The nurse thought he saw something when he didn't and…well, everything happened so fast. Cody probably didn't even know what hit him. Nurse Kroft told me that she tried to stop it, but she was too late; he was already sedated." She heaved a breath. "I didn't even hear about it until they'd already sent for an ambulance. Poor girl. I don't think I've ever seen someone cry so much. She kept saying, 'He saved me! He saved me!' It was very distressing."

George nearly smiled at that (even though it felt inappropriate to do so). _So he won, after all. _A surge of pride coursed through him. _Hell yeah. That's my boy, right there. _

There was a moment of pure silence in which George continued to stare at his feet and Nurse Richard's eyed him like she wondered if she'd told him too much and should have just said, "Your roommate, Cody Martin, isn't coming back. At least, not for a while."

Eventually, Nurse Richards beckoned toward the cup in his hands. Which still contained the pill.

"Oh…right," George said. He put the edge of the cup to his mouth, leaned back, and let the tablet slide onto his tongue. Then he handed the empty cup back to her in exchange for the one filled with water.

He maneuvered the pill, forcing it under his tongue where it would be safe from the water, and then drank. He gulped the water down in one take. Letting out a loud breath afterward. "I never get tired of water," he said.

"That's good," Nurse Richards responded, "with how much you drink it."

She took the second cup back into her clutches, and then turned toward the door. "Have a good day, George," she told him before walking out of the room.

Then she was gone.

Alone again, George took the pill out from beneath his tongue. He'd never done this before—he'd never gone a day without swallowing his Depakote. _Now where should I hide this? _he asked himself. There was no trash can in the room. There was no need for one; the patients didn't have anything with them except the clothes on their backs. _Pfft…even if there was a trash can, it'd be foolish to hide it there. The nurses would no doubt clean it and look inside. _

He looked around. He couldn't hide it beneath his bed because that would pretty much defeat the purpose of his doing this; he most likely wouldn't be able to retrieve it later, unless he hid it close to the perimeter of the bed itself…which would increase the chances of it being discovered.

He thought about it, staring at all parts of the almost-vacant room. Then he looked at the pill wedged between his fingers.

And that was when he thought of it—the perfect hiding place: _inside _the bed. Not under the sheets because the nurses removed those every other week to get washed, but somewhere else…

In the bed frame.

George crouched at the head of his bed and gently pressed against the mattress, separating it from the metal frame in which it was situated. Once he'd created a wide enough gap for the pill to fit through, he placed it inside, allowing the side of the mattress to fall back into place and squish the pill between it and the frame. Protecting it.

Until later.

_There, _thought George, with a mixture of dread and tenacity. _It won't be long before a have several hidden in there. _


	17. Chapter 17

**I must make a confession: I cut out a scene from this chapter—the scene where Zack gives the people of Fairoaks a piece of his mind. Originally, there was going to be a whole section dedicated to that, but the chapter was just getting too long so I deleted it. I apologize, but I think this chapter is lengthy enough as it is and I don't want my readers to have too much to absorb. Don't worry, though. Later on Zack will give a detailed (and accurate) explanation of all he did and said. :) **

**Also, here's something to look forward to: not in this chapter but in the next, the real reason behind Cody's attempted suicide will be revealed! That's right, our beloved Cody will reach his day of reckoning and his mystery will unravel! It was supposed to happen in the last chapter, but…well, this story is more complex than I thought it was going to be when I started writing it. :)**

**Btw, this chapter is mostly composed of conversations. However, each one of the conversations is necessary. Enjoy! And please let me know your thoughts! ;)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_** series. **

Everything was dark.

Cody no longer had any idea where he was, or what was happening to him. He felt as if he was drifting on a plane somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, and was unable to choose which one he wanted to embrace. This state of existence was all too familiar; Cody recognized it completely from when he was in the ER, right after his surgery. The disoriented thoughts. The sensation of floating in a dismembered mess. It was all so memorable.

And from somewhere in the distance—whether it was near or far, he could not tell—he heard voices.

"So what's the verdict?" asked a concerned female voice. "Do you think the Thorazine will have any further adverse effects?"

"At this point," replied a male voice that sounded like Dr. Maps, "I highly doubt it. I've checked and rechecked his heart multiple times. It looks like he's going to be okay."

"Good. Good. Thank goodness."

"I know."

"Yeah, poor kid. His body's been through a lot. For a while there, we almost lost him…just like we did last time. It's amazing he's still alive."

There was a long pause. Cody could feel someone's eyes on him, speculating. Wondering.

"I just can't believe this," the male voice finally said in disbelief. "And to think, I just saw him a few hours ago...at _Fairoaks_." The voice cracked a little at the word "Fairoaks," which cinched Cody's suspicion that it was Dr. Maps. It had to be. "He and I talked—we laughed together. He was happy for a while. And then all of a sudden, this happens. I just don't get it. If there's a God up there, he must love to torment me. There's just something about this boy—something different from my other patients. I don't know what it is, but I know it's special. _He's _special."

"You shouldn't think about it too much," the woman advised. "It's not healthy to do so."

Dr. Maps let out a laugh but it was noticeably laced with worry. "I just can't get over the irony of it. It's just too weird…strangely convenient, in a way."

"How so?"

"It's hard to explain."

Cody felt the staring eyes move away from him and land on something, or someone, else. Cody felt himself become suddenly more distanced. More secluded.

"Do you have any idea how he got sedated in the first place?" Dr. Maps wanted to know. "You'd think the people over there would at least know better than to inject Thorazine into a kid who's had heart surgery."

By "over there," Cody knew he meant Fairoaks.

"I contacted both the asylum and his parents," the woman answered. "They said he was in a fight. Apparently a predatory patient attacked one of the nurses—a Miss Jenny Kroft."

"Oh yeah," Dr. Maps said in acknowledgment. "Didn't you say she rode here with Cody in the ambulance?"

"Mm-hmm. She's over in the waiting room right now. I just got done talking to her. She said Cody saved her—that he pulled the guy off of her. She's been worried sick about him. Said she wants to see him whenever she can."

"That should be fine," Dr. Maps commented. "But what about the sedation?"

"Well, the nurse in charge of the other patient…" the woman's voice trailed off as Cody started to drop off into unconsciousness. He suddenly felt tired. Exhausted. In need of rejuvenation. He wanted to sleep.

And so he did. He slept long and hard as his body recovered.

Everything was still dark, but he didn't care.

…

Zack parked his car behind the entranceway of Fairoaks Asylum. He knew he wasn't supposed to do that, but he couldn't care less. He had no intention of walking the distance between the parking lot and the main building, and he wasn't going to (even if it meant getting towed); his plan was just to get in, give the idiots who worked there a piece of his mind, and then get out so he could go see Cody. The less walking he had to do, the better. Part of him was unsure of what he was doing, and he didn't want that part of him to take over and turn him around. He wanted to stay strong—to remain bent on his resolve. Of course, he knew that seeing Cody wasn't necessarily an option, despite how much he craved it to be. After doing what he was about to do, God only knew when he'd get to see his little brother again.

That fact saddened him, but he was not dissuaded. Unbelievable as it was, he felt that he was doing what had to be done—what would go undone if he didn't take matters into his own hands. Fairoaks was in desperate need of some perspective, and he figured if no one else was going to give it to them, than he would. No matter what the cost.

Besides, it was their misconduct that had nearly killed his Cody. He knew Cody had almost died…just as he knew that he was still alive. He could feel it in his chest. If Cody were dead, the connection between them would have been cut off by now, and Zack's heart would have broken. His heart was still intact. Badly bruised and scarred for life, but still whole.

And now screaming for justice.

There was a fire burning within him that he could not control, and he was well-aware that it was rage. The rage fed him, like coals tossed in a blasting furnace. As he walked up the hillside to the main building's front door, he kept his head down and gazed fixedly at his swiftly-moving feet. He had to because he didn't feel like himself anymore—he didn't feel real. Instead, he felt like a robot being controlled by wrath, his every move—his every function—regulated outside his power. _Move! _Wrath ordered. _Keep moving! Follow through with your mission._

There was nothing to yield his actions. The old Zack and the new had joined forces against a common enemy and the result would be a full-blown attack. A tirade.

…

When Cody finally woke up, he found himself in the hospital's recovery room, his arms and sides sore from the IVs and his body feeling heavier than what it actually was—like he had just come out of a pool after taking a long, exhilarating swim. He had a splitting headache and his mouth felt abnormally dry. He yawned, his jaw popping, and tried to swallow non-existent saliva. Then he looked around. Not much had changed from the last time he'd been there. There were empty beds situated on either side of him (some of the ones further down were occupied by sleeping patients), wheelchairs placed against the far wall to his left, along with monitors and ventilators and blankets. On his right was the exit—the wooden door in which people such as Zack and his parents, not to mention Dr. Maps, had once walked through to see him after his heart surgery. He half-expected one of those people to barge through it now and ask what the hell he'd gotten himself into this time.

Just moments later, someone did.

It was Dr. Maps, but he didn't barge; he sauntered into the room with fatigue and weariness. And heartache, though he tried not to show it. He stood before Cody with a pretentious smile that was easy see through, and said, as though commonly greeting someone on the street, "Hi Cody."

Cody figured he didn't know what else to say. It's not every day a doctor visits a former patient in an asylum and then, during that same day, has to operate on them. It's also not every day that a doctor almost loses a patient that had once been miraculously saved. _Conversations between such a doctor and such a patient are best kept simple_, he thought. _The possible complexities are too much to handle in one instance._

"Hi, Dr. Maps," Cody said in return. He attempted to smile back, but his lips only slightly managed to curve. Concern was beginning to possess him. The doctor looked like he was on the verge of bowling over. "I take it you know the basics of what landed me back here."

Dr. Maps nodded. "How are you feeling?" It was a simple question.

Cody was tempted to say, "Forget how _I'm_ feeling. How are _you_ feeling?" But instead said, "Okay. I've got a whopping headache and my body feels like a brick but, other than that, I'm okay."

"What do you mean your body feels 'like a brick'?"

"Like…like I feel like I can't will myself to move. I feel like I've got gallons of lead in my bloodstream or something."

"That's an effect of the drug—the Thorazine, I mean. It should wear off in a few hours. Apparently we weren't able to counter it as well as we would have hoped. It had already done a number on you before you came here."

"How did you try to counter it?" Cody wondered.

"By pumping nutrients into you—vitamins, minerals, water…things to dilute it in your system. Normally, it's advised for people who take Thorazine to weaken it with something. Otherwise, they're more likely to suffer the serious side effects. Just be grateful you're not vomiting to kingdom come right now."

"Ick," intoned Cody, grimacing.

"The thing that really worried me was how it would affect your heart. Your heart's in a weakened state as it is. I was afraid it would—"

"Say no more," Cody said, deciding he didn't need to know the details. He already had enough shocking insight into how close he'd gotten to death. "I get it. You almost lost me…again."

"Yeah," Dr. Maps agreed sadly. "Yeah, I did. But you came through for me again. Thank you."

Dr. Maps' eyes had suddenly wandered to the space next to Cody's bed, and Cody wasn't sure if the "thank you" was directed at him or at something else…like, say, God. "What was the 'thank you' for?" he asked, taking the risk of sounding random and obtrusive. "It wasn't like I did anything. If anyone should be getting a 'thank you,' it's you."

Dr. Maps smiled appreciatively (this time, the smile was real). "That's really kind of you, but I believe it was you who did most of the work. You pulled yourself through, Cody. You _willed_ yourself to make it. I saw your struggle. You were very brave."

Cody wondered what was so brave about lying helplessly in a hospital bed while being injected with IVs, but he didn't make any inquiries. "I'm glad you think so," he said.

A moment of silent contemplation befell them.

"It's so ironic, isn't it?" Dr. Maps eventually commented.

"What is?" asked Cody.

"This situation. It's just so…bizarre."

Cody looked at him quizzically.

"To think that just hours ago, you and I were sitting in the visiting room at Fairoaks—talking about how your brother had been right, and how I'd made a horrible mistake—and then all of a sudden, you get _out_ of there. You get out the same day I realize you _need _to get out."

"So…I won't be going back?" Cody wasn't as interested in what had happened as he was what it would lead to. His voice was noticeably hopeful. Optimistic, even.

"I highly doubt it. An incident like the one you went through usually entails a lawsuit…especially since you could have been killed."

_Oh, great, _thought Cody sarcastically. _A lawsuit. That's just what I need. _Despite how angry he was at being misjudged and sedated, the last thing he wanted was a court case on his hands.

Dr. Maps shook his head, contemplating the paradox of the day's events. Going deeper into it. "And what vexes me even more is _how _you got out," he went on. "It's so similar to how you got in when you think about it. You almost died in association to both occasions—you got in because you almost died, and you got out because you almost died. It's just weird. I can't seem to wrap my mind around it. It almost feels like a sick joke."

Cody considered the similarities. He had to admit, there were many—mostly emotional similarities, the most prominent of which being his experiences upon waking up in the hospital: seeing a mysterious light, lingering between sleep and wakefulness, feeling heavy when regaining consciousness…all of those and more. But there were also differences. Like whose fault it was, and how exactly he'd ended up in a state of "almost dying," and what he had almost died for. His first near-death incident had been the result of attempted suicide; his second had been the result of a frantic rescue. The first had not involved a struggle—that is, except for the panic that overtook Zack when he'd found him; the second, however, had included a fight. A fight that had, in fact, caused him injury. "I took a beating this time," Cody reminisced.

"Yes," Dr. Maps conceded. "Apparently you did. You've got a bruise on your belly the size of a baseball."

Cody was instantly curious of what the bruise looked like—of how bad it was—so he reached under his blanket, pulled the hem of his hospital gown up (he didn't care about the fact that he only had on underwear beneath it; it wasn't like Dr. Maps was going to pull down the blanket and take a peek), and glanced down at his stomach. The bruise was baseball-sized, alright. The bottom of its circumference was about two inches above his navel and another inch or so from his ribcage. It was purplish-green and hurt when he pressed his fingers against it. "I got elbowed," he told Dr. Maps. "The guy was really big. I got behind him and started yanking on his collar. Needless to say, he didn't like that very much. So he jammed his elbow into my gut and sent me reeling to the floor."

"Eesh," Dr. Maps said sympathetically. "I'm sorry." Then suddenly, he was struck with a quick, spontaneous desire to tell Cody something that he hadn't told any of his professional colleagues. Or anyone else for that matter…that is, except for Cody's twin brother Zack. He didn't know where this desire came from, but he knew it was senseless to refute it. "You're my miracle patient, Cody." There, it was out. Dr. Maps felt both relieved and uncomfortably exposed in having admitted that. He waited in anticipation for a response.

"I'm your what?" Cody questioned, not sure if he'd heard him right.

"My miracle patient," Dr. Maps repeated. "You made me believe in miracles. Before I met you, I never believed in anything beyond what I could see; it's a common thing among doctors…to believe only in the things backed up by evidence, or proven. To be skeptical. For the longest time, I was like that. I was like that ever since my…" he paused, unable to speak about his brother. It had been particularly agonizing to do so earlier, and he did not want to put himself through that ordeal again. "Never mind," he said, feeling a tad bit sheepish. "It doesn't matter. The point is, I lost my faith a long time ago and you helped me regain it…at least, to some extent. I'm not sure how much I actually believe, but I can honestly say it's more than I did before. "

Cody knew, even though Dr. Maps had effectively cut himself off, that he'd been about to give mention to his deceased brother.

"That's why you're my miracle patient," Dr. Maps continued. "And it's not just the fact that you've lived through two operations—the first of which was not known to be successful—or that you remind me of…someone."

_I remind you of your brother, don't I, Dr. Maps? You hurt to be around me because I remind you of your brother. You don't have to hide that fact…though I can see why you'd want to. If I ever lost _my_ brother…_

_No, I can't think like that. It hurts too much. _

"It's you, as a person. _You're_ a miracle. And I don't mean that in a religious or philosophical sense. I'm talking personal. You're a miracle to _me_."

Tears pricked Cody's eyes. He'd never been called anything like that before. Not even by his brother, or by his parents. It was such an honor to be known as a miracle to someone. Cody hardly felt worthy of it but he didn't say so. He just laid back and let the tears well.

Dr. Maps noticed them. "Oh, Cody," he choked. Before he could stop himself, he bent over the boy's limp, bruised, and aching body and gently kissed his forehead. It was against hospital regulations to do that. Doctors were not supposed to display affection toward their patients; they could accept hugs and kisses when offered but they could never administer them. However, Dr. Maps was beyond caring. He knew Cody wouldn't tell anyone…except maybe his brother, who wouldn't mind.

"Your friend Jenny's in the waiting room," Dr. Maps continued, standing up straight. "She asked if she could see you."

"How is she?" Cody inquired, remembering her tear-streaked face in the ambulance and the touch of the damp cloth with which she used to cool his face. "Does she know I'm okay?"

Dr. Maps nodded. "I spoke to her while you were asleep. Told her you'd be back to normal by the end of the day and that she could come see you after you woke up." He paused suddenly and heaved a disheartened sigh. "She thinks she's responsible for all this."

Cody gave him a bewildered look.

"Yeah," he verified. "I tried to comfort her, but…she was inconsolable. I think seeing you is the only thing that'll make her feel better."

Cody could only picture what her reaction to seeing him would be, but he felt she needed to see him. "Bring her in."

Dr. Maps turned to leave.

"Dr. Maps?" Cody stopped him.

He looked back over his shoulder, his hand on the handle on the door, ready to pull.

"Could I, maybe, have some water? My throat feels a little dry."

"Sure."

And then Dr. Maps was gone.

He was replaced by Jenny, who, as soon as her eyes found him, instantly ran to the side of Cody's bed and buried her head into his chest.

"Jenny…" Cody said, but it was drowned out by the sound of her bitter sobbing. So he just rubbed her back and tried to calm her by repetitively saying, "Shhh…shhhhh…"

"Oh God, Cody!" she finally managed to sputter. "The doctors told me they almost lost you. I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life…not even when Mr. Willner…" Her sobbing increased. "Oh Cody, I am so sorry! This is all my fault! It's my fault you almost…oh _God_!" She sounded like she was going to be sick. "I'll never forgive myself for this."

That was when Cody decided to take the initiative. "Hey," he said softly. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay." He took her about the shoulders and gradually tried to push her from him. "Look at me. Jenny, look at me."

She did.

"Everything's okay now. I'm okay." He wanted to sound as convincing as possible. "Just a few side effects left over from the drug, but that's it. Other than that, I'm perfectly fine."

Jenny sniffled. "That's good," she conceded. "When they told me you were going to make it, I was…" she paused, thinking of the right words to say. "…more relieved that you could possibly imagine."

Just then, Dr. Maps came back in, carrying a cup half-filled with water. "Here's your water, Cody," he apologized. "I just got in contact with your parents. They say they're on their way here. They should be here shortly to take you home."

He handed the cup over to Cody. Cody took it and started gulping down the water. When he was finished, he handed the cup back to Dr. Maps and thanked him.

"No problem," Dr. Maps said back. Then he left a second time.

Once Jenny and Cody were alone again, Jenny resumed their conversation: "Cody, I'm grateful to you for what you did. _Immensely _grateful. I'll never forget it…and I sure as hell will never be able to repay it. But believe me, it _was _my fault."

Cody opened his mouth to protest but Jenny cut him off: "I knew that Mr. Willner was dangerous, Cody. I _knew _it. Whenever we get a new patient, we're all required to read their profile. Even patients like Mr. Willner who need…special attention. That way, we can protect ourselves." She swallowed hard, her guilt shining like a beacon on her face. "I knew what kind of a man he was. I knew what it meant when he started rubbing my arm—I knew it was a sign! And I…I turned my back on him anyway."

Cody wasn't angry at her, though part of him wanted to be (he couldn't bring himself to be because it was her mistake that had, inadvertently, led to his escape from Fairoaks). Rather than anger, the emotion that overcame him was curiosity—morbid wonder. "Tell me, why _did_ you approach him?" he questioned. "When you saw him in the hallway…if you knew he was dangerous…why didn't you just leave him there and take me to my room?"

"Because," Jenny replied glumly, "I felt like I had a responsibility to him. Like my being a nurse meant I automatically had to take charge of him. He's not supposed to be unguarded, Cody…ever. Sex offenders are never supposed to be out of our sight unless they're locked in their rooms."

Cody took a moment to mull this over. To analyze her the way a doctor would a patient. He felt obligated to do so; she needed to be understood. "I think the bottom line," he eventually said, "is that you were blinded. You were blinded by your job, so you ignored common sense."

"I was stupid," she declared matter-of-factly.

Cody shook his head. "No, not stupid," he disagreed. "You're not stupid, Jenny. You just…you had your mind on one thing when it should have been on something else. You were distracted by what you thought you had to do. It's actually pretty natural."

"It almost got you killed." All of a sudden, Jenny began to cry again. "_I_ almost got you killed…because I was distracted. Because I never once foresaw that he would attack me, even though I was fully aware that he could…even though the signs were right there in front of me!"

Cody sighed. "But that's no different," he argued, "than, say, someone who smokes cigarettes even though they know it'll give them cancer, or someone who doesn't wear their seatbelt even though they know it'll increase their chances of dying in a car wreck."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just saying, it's no different. People do shit like this all the time. We live like we're immune to everything. Like the things we see in movies and on the news can never happen to us; we _keep _living that way until they do."

"Well, that's stupid."

Cody shrugged. She was never going to see what she did as anything other than pure stupidity, and he was aware of that. "Maybe," he gave in. "But it's human."

Jenny looked at him in silence for a long minute, and then gave a slow nod. On a subconscious level, despite her self-loathing, she knew he was right. What she had done _was_ human, and she couldn't deny it. People made wrong calls all the time and she, regardless of how trained and pumped full of college vocabulary she was, wasn't any different.

What really bothered her was not the fact that she had made a mistake, but the fact that she had ignored her instincts. She'd knowingly seen the signs of Mr. Willner's transgression, and had paid them little heed…thus, offering him the chance to assault her and, in turn, enabling Cody to get unjustly sedated. She could not forgive herself for that. If the signals had not been there—if there had been nothing to see that would hint towards Mr. Willner's actions—she could accept her misjudgment as an honest mistake and move on. But the fact that there was rendered that impossible.

It was rather funny when she thought about it. Not in the comical sense, but in the peculiar sense. When she'd first started working at Fairoaks, she'd been confident about herself. She had six years of college education under her belt, several internships, extracurricular activities, outstanding grades and recommendations—everything that would make her stand out to the common employer. And she'd been proud of it. She'd acted as though she was ready to take on anything that came her way. She desperately _wanted_ to be ready.

She'd been determined to prove herself—to show her parents that she was capable of working hard, despite her comfortable, well-to-do upbringing. To have the last laugh at those kids in her childhood who'd called her a stuck-up snob and swore that she could never handle real life. To show anyone who disliked people born into wealthier families that even those who didn't have to work could if they so desired.

And to demonstrate, through choosing clinical psychology as her field, that she had a heart that she intended to use to help people.

But she'd overestimated herself. She had never given much consideration to the danger, nor to the overall price, of her choices; she had never once thought that any of the horrible things she'd seen on TV or read about in her textbooks could actually happen to her.

She'd acted like she was immune to them.

She hated to admit it, but what happened between her and Mr. Willner was a wake-up call.

…

Kurt and Carey Martin arrived at the hospital about fifteen minutes after Jenny Kroft had gone into the recovery room to see their son. When they met with Dr. Maps (who'd been waiting for them) in the front lobby, they were worried senseless. Kurt spouted off an endless string of questions, and Carey began to shout. Then after a while, Kurt started cussing up a storm and Carey dissolved into sobs.

By the time Dr. Maps calmed them down to the point where they could speak reasonably, people were staring at them.

The doctor assured them that Cody was okay; he gave them a rundown of what he and his colleagues had done to him in the ER, and then told them that they could go see him shortly. Which made them feel remarkably better. Carey even gave Dr. Maps an appreciative hug.

But then Kurt asked a question that threw Dr. Maps for a loop: "And what about Zack?"

Dr. Maps gazed at him in puzzlement, before asking him what he meant.

"You know," Kurt explained, "my other son…Zack. Cody's twin brother."

"I know who you're referring to," Dr. Maps said. "What about him?"

"Where is he? Has he seen Cody yet?" Kurt seemed so eager for the reply. So sure that his older son was in the hospital somewhere and had already seen his younger one.

Dr. Maps kept his face vacant and confused, though he felt his heart sink and his stomach twist with dread as he told them the truth that he knew would alarm them: "Mr. and Ms. Martin, Zack's not here."

At first, Kurt looked at him as though he hadn't heard him right. But when he saw the sincerity in the doctor's eyes, and knew that he'd heard him perfectly fine. And had responded honestly. "What?"

"What do you mean he's not here?" begged Carey.

"I mean," Dr. Maps confirmed, "he's not here. He never came in."

Just then, a nervous silence befell the three of them.

Carey put an end to it. "Oh no," she whispered in sudden terror. "Where could he…?" She turned toward her ex-husband, searching for any answers or ideas that he might have, but instantly lost hope when she saw that his expression was blank except for concern.

They were escorted to the nearest waiting room where they sat, wallowing in anxiety. Carey cried softly into Kurt's shoulder, muttering about where her baby was, while Kurt tried his best to comfort both her and himself by telling her that wherever he was, he was alright.

Not too long after they'd sat down, Kurt's cell phone rang. Immediately, and without second thought, he dug it out of his pocket and answered it. "Hello?" he said desperately.

_Please be Zack, _he mentally implored. _Please, please be Zack. And please let him be calling from somewhere safe. _

It was, indeed, Zack.

He was calling from the Boston police station.


	18. Chapter 18

**I know what you're all probably thinking: "Holy crap! What a long-ass chapter." :) Rest assured, though, this one is the longest. If you feel the need to read some of it now and some later, please do so. It's the most vital chapter in the story. **

**That being said, you can all clap and throw up graffiti now: Cody's much-awaited moment of truth has finally come! Though I doubt it'll be what some of you may have expected, I sincerely hope it does not disappoint. Cody's battered self-image, as shown via his and George's discussion here, was loosely based off of his feelings at the end of the SLOD episode "Goin' Bananas." I'm sure avid SL fans, such as myself, will notice the similarities.**

**Furthermore, for my readers who do not live in the United States and who may not know this, a "fed pen"—as will be mentioned in this chapter—is slang for "federal penitentiary." In other words, a federal prison. I don't mean to insult anyone's intelligence; I just wanted to make sure everyone was clear on that so there's no confusion.**

**I really hope you enjoy this! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_** series. **

Zack sat quietly in his chair, his hands folded on his lap and the back of his head leaning against the brick wall behind him. He was situated in a corner, next to a work desk where the officer who had arrested him rummaged relentlessly through shuffled papers, files, and post-it stamps in search of his record (which, as the man had sworn, was right there just a second ago). The noise was rather annoying to Zack, but he managed to drown it out. His thoughts were focused on what he had done…and how good he was feeling.

Though his arms hurt from being harshly pulled behind him, his ankle was sore from tripping on his way to the squad car, and his wrists were pink from the handcuffs (which had thankfully been removed upon his arrival at the station), he couldn't deny that he was perfectly content with himself.

Ending up at the police station sure as hell wasn't something he'd wanted, but he considered it a small price to pay in having it out with the people at Fairoaks. He didn't see what he did as wrong, or remotely uncalled-for. It wasn't like he'd killed anyone…although there was a part of him that had desperately wanted to. He'd merely told them off. And they'd asked for it. Their inability to do their jobs properly had almost killed his little brother. He couldn't let something like that stand.

Nobody hurt his Cody. Nobody.

If anyone did, he would set them straight. He'd risk anything in the process—even his own security. And he'd accept the consequences of his actions.

Getting arrested was not exactly a new consequence for Zack. In fact, this was not the first time he'd ended up at the Boston police station. During his adolescence he'd managed to land himself there on two occasions, once for trying to steal money from inside a cash register when he was fourteen, and the other time for drinking underage when he was sixteen. He couldn't say the notion of going to jail was novel to him. Most people who knew him pictured him going there at some point in his future. So this felt natural. Almost like a rebirth of the young, reckless Zack that everyone loved to criticize.

_But this is different, _a little voice inside of him protested. _This is different and you know it._

And the voice was right; this _was _different. Despite what he felt, he knew this wasn't a revival of his young self. His young self was irresponsible and thoughtless—a schemer, and a prankster. A boy who got himself into trouble by being sneaky and plotting things in the name of a good laugh.

This was precisely the opposite of that. What Zack had done this time had been out of anger—out of want for justice. Out of love. Out of disgust. And out of many other emotions that his young self had hardly ever acted upon.

"Aha!" he heard the officer exclaim at his side. "Here it is." Evidently, he'd buried 'it'—the record—under a mass of other papers and hadn't thought to look through them.

Once it was in his hands, he sat down at his desk and looked it over. It took him a while to read all the fine print, but when he'd finished, he then turned his eyes toward Zack. "Zachary Martin," he said with conviction. "Born—1992; birthplace—Seattle. Arrested twice when you were a minor—once for attempted theft and once for underage drinking."

"That's right," Zack confirmed.

The officer shot him a reproachful frown. "So it seems you're not exactly a newbie to crime, are you Zachary? You've been in here before."

"When I was a kid," Zack stated, nodding.

"True, true." The officer put down the record and folded his hands over top of it, his gaze never leaving Zack. "And yet, here we are for round three. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Zack shrugged. "Does it really matter what I say?"

"Look, son,"—Zack cringed; he always hated how officers had the tendency to call a young boy, or a young man, "son" even though they were of no relation to them—"I hate to say this, but from where I stand, you're a bad guy. I ain't gonna lie to you and say I think you're innocent just so I can gain your trust like you see cops do on all those TV shows. No, I'm gonna be blunt and honest with you—my job demands that I look at you as the bad guy. I know what you did was wrong…and I think you know it too. My question is: _why_ did you do it?"

He tapped his finger on the record. "You see, this—this right here—I can forgive," he continued, obviously referring to Zack's two previous arrests. "I was young once. I stole things, I drank before I legally could…I thought I was cool. I can understand this." He tapped the paper again. "But what you did today—that I _can't_ understand. You attacked people, Zachary."

"Call me Zack. And I didn't _attack _them, I yelled at them," Zack corrected.

"Yelling at people is still attacking them, Zack. It's harassment. And besides, that's not _all_ you did. You were about to hit a man!"

"I didn't."

"But you were _about_ to. Let's not forget your intentions, Zack. They count."

There was a short pause in which Zack silently reflected on his intentions. Justice had been the biggest thing. A deep, burning desire for justice that had driven him like a mind-controlling entity.

_It's kind of ironic how I was prompted by justice, yet in the eyes of the justice "system" I'm a bad guy. _

The officer felt the need to carry on, so he did: "You were on the brink, Zack. You were on the brink of losing it. You see, things like this—like what went down today—lead to chain reactions. First it's verbal abuse, then it's hitting, then it's all kinds of violence, and then someone gets killed." His frown intensified and morphed into a condemning glare. "And once someone gets killed, everything's changed. You've changed. You can never redeem yourself."

_I don't know about that, officer. I like to think anyone can be redeemed. I take it you believe in justice, and truth, and integrity, and all that other good stuff. What about forgiveness?_

"I'd hate to see you changed like that, Zack. But from what I've seen…I gotta say, it's possible. You've reached the first step in the chain reaction."

_Not necessarily, officer. I wouldn't think twice about giving some asshole a piece of my mind, or a black eye if I thought he really deserved it…but I'd never kill anyone. _

"I'm not trying to scare you, son…"

_Yes, I think you are. You're a cop. You cops are well-trained in the art of scare tactics, and you use them whenever you see fit. _

"I'm just trying to…help you."

_No, you're trying to crucify me. I'm nothing more to you than a tally-mark on your quota—a point given to you for being the "good guy." But in order for you to be the good guy, I have to be the villain._

_You know I'm a good guy, officer. But you're sitting here trying to convince both of us that I'm not so you can feel good about yourself for arresting me._

The officer waited for Zack to speak. When Zack said nothing, he urged him: "Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?" When that, too, was to no avail, he became aggravated. "You know, I could have thrown you in a cell if I wanted to. You're an adult now Zack; that means you don't get off so easily anymore. I coulda said 'to heck with it' and tossed you in with the drug fiends and the drunks…and made you wait_ there_ for your dad to come. Is that what you'd have wanted? Cause it sure as hell wouldn't've been any skin off my back. But no, I allowed you to sit here and talk to me; I gave you a chance to explain yourself to me. So why don't you take advantage of that?"

Zack still didn't say anything.

"Damn it, boy! You know you have the right to talk!"

"Yes, I do," Zack shot back all of a sudden. "And I also have the right to remain silent."

After that, they both got quiet.

There was nothing to say. It didn't matter what Zack told this cop; the guy would twist it around anyway. That's what cops did—they twisted your words until they made you look and feel like the biggest dumbass on Earth, with no right to live. And Zack didn't want to feel that way. He was feeling good—proud of himself, even—and nothing was going to bring that feeling down.

He began to think about his father, who he'd gotten a hold of when he was allowed his one phone call, and who promised to be at the station as soon as possible. He thought about how lucky it was that his father's cell phone had been turned on, because otherwise, he'd have been screwed. He'd have wasted his one chance to get in contact with the outside world and would have had to rely on an eventual release…whenever that would be. His first thought had been to call the Tipton and have Mr. Moseby get in touch with his parents. But for some reason, he couldn't remember the hotel's phone number (he hadn't used it since he was a kid, and even back then he only used it once in a while). His dad's cell was the only other number he could think of, so he tried it and hoped—prayed—that he wouldn't get stuck with his voice mail.

Luckily, his dad had answered on the first ring and Zack found himself speeding through a quick rundown of the basics: where he was, why he was there, what he needed now, etc. it was hard because his dad was speaking to him frantically and he could hear his mom crying over the receiver (which gave him a streak of guilt), but nevertheless, he managed to get it all out before the officer ordered him to hang up.

He'd made sure that his last words were "I'm sorry" and "I love you." Then he'd put the phone back and followed the officer over to where he was sitting now.

He tried to picture what his dad would look like when he saw him—tired, worried, angry, older than he really was…

He also deliberated on what his dad would say.

_I'll probably get a mouth full._

…

When Kurt finally did show up at the police station, he looked more disillusioned than anything else. Despite his natural tan complexion, he appeared whiter than a ghost. His eyes drooped, his head hung low, and his hands were stuffed firmly into his pockets. As soon as he entered the building, both Zack and his arresting officer spotted him.

And he spotted them.

"Stay here," demanded the officer when Zack instinctually began to stand up.

Though he desperately didn't want to, Zack did as he was told. He sat back down and watched, like an observer, as the cop approached his father and began to talk to him. He wondered what they were saying, but not to the point of trying to eavesdrop. It was probably something along the lines of: "Sir, I'm really sorry but—you know—your son shouldn't be doing things like this. He could find himself in a world of trouble someday." To which the reply would be something like: "I understand perfectly, officer. I apologize for the inconvenience."

_Yep, I'm an inconvenience. A bunch of crackpot doctors can effectively sentence by brother to death—that's okay. But if I so much as complain about it, I'm an inconvenience. That sounds about right. _

_Ain't society just grand?_

As Kurt finally made his way over to the corner, Zack caught the last part of the conversation. His dad spoke over his shoulder at the officer, who was now walking off somewhere: "I haven't even seen my other son yet. I was in the waiting room when Zack called me, and for a while, I didn't know whether to leave and come here right away or go in and see my other one first."

Then he was standing over Zack, waiting for him to get up.

"So Cody's okay?" Zack braved a question. He wasn't sure if that was wise, but he couldn't help himself; Cody was the biggest thing on his mind right now.

"He's fine," Kurt answered simply. "Let's go. Your mom's still at the hospital."

Zack got up and followed his father out, maneuvering through the throng of cops and struggling criminals swarming the main room.

Kurt was the first one out the door. As he held it open for Zack, he said, "Oh, and by the way, the cop told me your car was towed from Fairoaks. We'll eventually have to pick it up."

_Of course, _thought Zack.

When Kurt and Zack were sitting in Kurt's car (or Carey's car, technically) in the station's parking lot, about to make the trip from there to the hospital, Zack started to really wonder if his dad was going to say anything. "Are you going to talk to me?" he asked boldly. "Or is this going to be a silent ride?"

It took a moment for Kurt to answer. "What do you want me to say, Zack?"

"I don't know." Zack shrugged. "I'm sure there's _something _you'd like to tell me."

The lack of words felt abnormal in this situation. One would think that a father would have plenty to say to his recently-arrested son, and Zack had prepared himself for the worst. While sitting in the station, he'd even rehearsed about twenty or so different things he thought his dad might tell him upon seeing him: "I'm ashamed of you"; "you should be ashamed of yourself"; "I know how you feel, but this isn't the answer"; "you should have known better"; and the ever-famous "back in my day…" routine.

None of them, however, were what he actually said: "Was it worth it?"

At first, Zack was stunned, that having never crossed his mind. Then his mouth curved into a smile and he replied with confidence, "Yeah. It was."

"I guess there's not a whole lot I can say to that," Kurt reasoned. He leaned forward, put the car keys into the ignition, turned them back and fired up the engine. He then placed his hands on the steering wheel.

Zack was relieved. His father was taking this a lot better than he thought he would.

"You know, your mom's still gonna want to know what you did," Kurt added as he started to pull out of his parking space. "Maybe you should go ahead and get your story straight with me…cause when you face her, I highly doubt you'll get a word in edge-wise. You know how your mom is."

Zack decided that was fair enough, so he told him everything—everything from beginning to end, excluding no details: "I went into Fairoaks—well, barged into Fairoaks more like—and demanded to see the guy who sedated Cody. They told me he wasn't there—that he'd been fired and had left already. So then I told them I wanted to see Cody's psychiatrist. They weren't too keen on that either, but when I told them I wouldn't go away until I saw him, the lady at the front desk called him in his office and told him to get down there. He said he was too busy, but then I lost it—I didn't _mean _to, I was just _so_ pissed. I grabbed the phone out of the lady's hands and started yelling at the guy myself. I told him to 'get his ass down there _now _or it would get ugly.' He was all like, 'Okay, okay…just don't do anything irrational.' And I said, 'Hurry up!' And then I waited for him; I waited a good ten or so minutes before he came out. I started to get antsy there for a while, but when he came through the door I started asking him all these questions about Cody—about what happened to him when he'd been a patient there and such. I told him about how bad he looked whenever I visited him and asked him why that was. He barely had any answers. He didn't know jack about Cody; Cody didn't tell him shit apparently. Not that I blame him—the guy was a pompous ass." He paused as the next part of his story came to mind. "He said what happened to Cody was Cody's own fault—that if I should be taking my anger out on anybody, it should be him. He called Cody 'egotistical' and 'moronic,' and said that any boy with the nerve he's got is better off dead anyway. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to kill him. But I couldn't go that far—I don't think I could forgive myself afterward if I did. So instead I was going to hit him; I was going to give him a black eye and then leave. So I grabbed him by the shirt collar, forced him about an inch or two toward me, balled up my fist… and that's when the cop came. He arrested me and, well, that was that."

"I see," said Kurt. "You know, after I came to pick you up, when he and I were talking he told me specifically that Dr. Thompson called him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He said Dr. Thompson called him right after you yelled at him on the phone. And he also said Dr. Thompson requested him to turn his siren off when he got close enough—that way you wouldn't know a cop was coming. Cops can do that if they feel they need to."

"Huh…then I guess I could have avoided this mess." Zack waited, expecting his dad to blow a gasket at any given moment.

But he didn't. When he spoke again, he was calm and serene: "I'm not going to yell at you because…well, I don't think it'd do much good. What's done is done. But I _will _say this—don't you _ever _pull a stunt like this again. Your mom and I were scared shitless before we got your call. I know why you did what you did; believe me, I understand it…and I'm not going to criticize you for it, or preach to you about how unreasonable it was, because I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. But, that aside, I want you to think about what would have happened if they'd decided to be stricter with you at the station—if they'd locked you up and made us pay bail to get you out. We might not have been able to pull that. Bail isn't cheap. You would have had to sit in a cell for a while, alone…unable to see Cody. Think about that."

_Strangely enough, Dad, I _was _thinking about that. But I deemed it worth my decision to set the guilty straight. _

"Your brother needs you, Zack. I'm sure you know that. But you can't be there for him if you're in jail."

"I know, you're right," Zack admitted. "It's just…I don't know. I guess my anger got the best of me. I just wish none of this had ever happened. I wish things had never changed."

Kurt briefly turned his eyes away from the road and fixed them on his son. "Things change, son," he intoned, his voice wise and full of experience. "It's life. You just have to accept it and move on."

"Usually I do, but this change is just…different. I can't move on from this, Dad."

"It'll take some time."

"It'll take more than _some _time."

"Okay, a lot of time."

Zack shook his head defiantly. "It'll take the rest of my life, Dad."

"No…it won't. I know it feels that way, but believe me, it won't. You'll heal eventually. You've just been away from your brother too long. You've been forced to worry about him too much. Once you guys are together again, some of that pain will go away." When he saw that his son was unsure, he tacked on another "It's life, son. And life goes on."

Suddenly, Zack's anger flared. "Since when do you have insight into life, Dad?" he spat. "Since when does a divorced rock star with two kids he never even raised have a fucking clue about life?"

Zack could tell that his words hurt his father, but he didn't take them back. He let them linger in the air between them, like a filthy stench they both wanted to shun. Like an invisible barrier that had always—and would always—separate them, even though they were father and son and had a mutual longing for a bond.

"Okay, fine," Kurt finally said in response. "Maybe you have a valid point. Maybe I don't know the first thing about life." He paused for a long time—so long that Zack actually thought he'd decided to stop talking—before continuing with: "But you can't deny that I know a little something about music."

Zack was shocked. That was the second thing his father had said that had taken him by surprise. "And that's relevant _how_?" he managed to ask, unable to suppress a tone of incredulity.

"Maybe it's not," Kurt said. "Then again, maybe it is. Maybe music and life have a lot in common."

Zack stared at him in bafflement. "Care to explain that statement?"

"You said you wished things had never changed," Kurt pointed out. "Well, look at it this way: if I had my guitar with me right now and, for whatever reason, wanted to hit just one note, I could do it. I could pluck just one chord over and over again, for a long time, and make a single, unchanging sound. That would be easy. Anyone with fingers could do that. But see, that's not music; that's just noise. Just sound, with no organization."

"What are you getting at?" Zack interrupted.

"It's the _change _in notes, Zack—the _disruption _of sound, the shifting from one chord to another—that makes it music. That gives it meaning. And I assume…I believe…that it's the same with life. Without change, you can't live; you can only exist. Just like you can't have music without change—only noise. Each event in life, whether pleasant or not, is like a note…and all these notes come together to make a song—your life."

Zack considered it that way. It wasn't a perfect analogy. Far from it. But it was sure as hell interesting. Still, it didn't make him feel any better. "Some notes shouldn't be played, though," he mentioned. "Some notes shouldn't be played at all."

"That's understandable. But if they weren't, you wouldn't have the same song—the same life. Some songs are not beautiful, but that doesn't mean they're not meaningful. Or necessary."

"So you think this situation we're in is necessary?"

Kurt's hands sqeezed the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I can't afford to think otherwise, son. If I think otherwise, I won't stay sane."

They were silent again for the rest of the ride.

…

There were phone calls from Fairoaks days after Cody went home—apologies, assurances, inquiries about Cody's health, encouragement for him to come back and "finish therapy" (which was out of the question), and the occasional reminder of Zack's outburst from an irate worker.

Though some of them seemed like they desperately wanted to, none of them tried to force Cody to come back. Not only could they not do that, but they knew better than to mess with a lawsuit…which was, to everyone's dismay, impending.

Cody did go back though. But not under anyone's influence save his own. And not as a patient.

He went back as a visitor.

For George.

…

The days had gone by in a blur for George Tanner. A blur of many things—colors, sounds, tastes, events…feelings. The feelings were the worst. He couldn't control them anymore. They ran him over like speeding cars on a highway and left him there to stagger and fall. He wasn't used to it.

But he wasn't giving up. He already had an assortment of Depakote pills hidden inside his bedrail, and fuck, he wanted to have more.

In a way, his un-medicated self felt free. Liberated. Like a slave who'd secretly started a revolution against his master, or like a prisoner who'd just unlocked his chains. However, he also felt scared (yes, as hard as it was for him to come to terms with, George was scared). He felt insecure, and doubtful. His standoffish demeanor, which usually came naturally to him, had lately become an effort. He could even go so far as to call it a pretense. He constantly had to remind himself to stay cool and not draw suspicion…kind of like a new-time drug dealer who didn't know who he could trust versus who would rat him out.

And his bipolar disorder didn't help matters.

George now lived in a continuous state of mood swings—from a hyperactive euphoria to a desolate sadness. The doctors had terms for these moods: "mania" and "depression."

What they called "mania" George saw as "ascension." He saw it as that because it uplifted him and made him feel like he was walking among clouds. It gave him the sensation of floating on air as though it were a river current, while simultaneously it turned him into a live circuit—electrified and powerful. When he was "manic," he was alive. He was inspired. He loved life and loved the world, and was able to do anything and everything his heart desired.

What was referred to as "depression," he called "the fall." The fall from grace—the descent from bliss. The loss of indestructibility and acceptance of failure. When he was depressed, he was vulnerable. Dead inside. Or, at least, in a coma. He was nothing and no one, and everyone hated him and would be better off without him. He was an abomination of the worst kind. A pesky insect on God's green Earth that needed to be squashed immediately.

Of course, deep down, he knew that's what he was anyway, depressed or not. But when he was manic, he didn't care. When he was depressed, he cared about nothing else.

The medication had significantly lessened the mood-changing. It had given George stability, which is what the doctors said he needed. Stability equaled normalcy. But George didn't really want stability. His disorder was real. It was what made him who he was. Mania and depression, as hard as they were to compensate for, were two halves of his soul. He wasn't George without them. He was a clone.

And he despised the thought of him being a clone. It was better to be black or white than to be gray.

…

George didn't think anything of visiting day. He had nothing to be excited about; it wasn't like he ever got any visitors. Nobody wanted to see him. He'd been totally forgotten by the outside world.

So that next visiting day after Cody left, George was pretty flabbergasted when a nurse came into his room and told him someone was there to see him.

He already knew it was Cody (who else would it be?), but still, he couldn't suppress a feeling of giddiness that erupted inside him at the thought of _finally _getting to see the visiting room…after nearly three years of being a patient at Fairoaks.

When he walked inside of it, the first thing he did was take at his surroundings and think to himself, _So this is what it looks like. _It was, by a long-shot, the nicest room he'd ever seen in Fairoaks besides the lobby. The table and chairs situated in the center looked very business-like. _How long has it been since I've seen tables and chairs like that? _

Sitting in one of the chairs, smiling as though he'd just found a long-lost relative, was Cody.

"Well, whatya know?" George marveled. "My very first visitor. Figures it'd be you."

"Hey George," Cody said in return. Without thinking twice, he walked up to his old roommate and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. George didn't mind. Despite his lack of emotional range, he hugged Cody back (though not as firmly).

Enclosed within his grasp, Cody couldn't help but notice that George felt especially frail. His shoulder blades and spine poked abnormally through his shirt and he seemed to have practically no flesh in between his bones and skin. Cody had never realized just how gaunt he was.

Then again, he had never really touched George much either.

"You're looking well," George commented as his ex-roommate pulled away from him and bent to take a seat.

"Thanks," Cody responded. "I'm feeling much better."

"That's a relief, given what you've been through." George sat down in the chair next to Cody's. "Thank God you're not dead."

"So, I take it you know about what happened to me?"

George nodded, unsurprised. "That's what happens in a place like this, man," he said coolly. "You do something nice for someone and they shoot you up with Thorazine for it. That's the drill. If it wasn't for you, little Miss Jenny woulda been a rape victim…which is pretty fuckin' major if you ask me. But, did you get a 'thank you' for all your bravery and shit? Hell no." He snorted, appalled. "Ungrateful bitches!"

"Not _all _of them are ungrateful," Cody told him in appeasement. "Jenny herself thanked me."

George seemed momentarily amazed by that, but then maintained his nonchalant look. "That's…nice," he declared. "But still, the nurses here suck. Like the douche who pumped you full o' Thorazine in the first place—I mean, what the fuck was he thinking?"

"How do you know it was a he?" Cody couldn't imagine how he would know that kind of detail. It wasn't like male nurses were plentiful.

"Nurse Richards told me."

_Well, that's peculiar. Isn't that breaking the confidentiality rules? _"I thought nurses weren't allowed to give out that kind of information."

"They're not." George shrugged. "I'm just invisible. No one cares about me, Codes. Remember?"

Cody thought it odd how George had called him "Codes" the way Zack usually did. He couldn't recall him ever doing so before. Not that it was uncommon to call a boy named Cody "Codes"; it was strange for Cody to hear it from someone he wasn't related to. "Codes" was an intimate name—one used by family members and the closest of friends. But he didn't comment on it.

"Do you know the name of the patient who attacked Jenny?" George asked, looking genuinely curious.

"Willner," Cody admitted. "Jenny called him Mr. Willner." He didn't know if it was right to tell him that, but it didn't matter anyway. The damage was already done by the time he second-guessed himself. And besides, what could George do from knowing? He was either on lock-down or in the presence of staff.

"I know who he is," George remarked. "Jeff Willner—that's his name. He's a sex offender."

_Yeah_, _I kind of figured that out for myself,_ Cody thought. But he just said, "Oh, really?"

George nodded. "I don't know too much about him, but rumor has it he's from Kentucky. I heard he raped two girls there, got his name in the paper and a shitload o' state troopers on his ass, and then ran. Skipped all the states from there to here, and then got caught trying to rape a ten-year-old."

Cody twisted his face into a contorted look of disgust.

"The only reason he's in here instead of a fed pen is on account o' his being a schizo. Or at least that's what people say."

Cody believed it. He had faith in George's information; George knew people. Word got around easily in Fairoaks—a little too easily.

"He's a prick," George concluded. "That's the bottom line."

Cody just nodded again and took another moment to observe his friend. George seemed especially moody. Not his typically aloof, yet charmingly sarcastic self. Cody didn't know why, but he got the feeling that something was up with him.

Finally, George noticed that Cody was staring at him. "What?" he asked. "What is it?" His tone came across as oddly paranoid. Nothing like the laid-back, apathetic George who would probably have said something like: "Why are you staring at me? You think I'm hot or something?"

_What's wrong with you, George? You're not acting like yourself. It's like I hardly know you. Like you're your own alternate ego. _

Cody decided not to answer him, but instead to be perfectly honest about his feelings regarding the whole situation. "I'm glad it happened though," he said. Then he realized how rude and inconsiderate that must have sounded and hastened to explain: "I mean, not what happened to Jenny…but what happened to me. That shot of Thorazine was what got me out of this place…even if it did almost kill me in the process. It doesn't matter though. If I'd stayed here, I would have been dead anyway."

He glanced down at the table and bit his lower lip, wondering how George was taking that—fearing that his friend's feelings, despite how deeply buried they may have been, were getting hurt. "I had to get out of here, man," he amended. "One way or another. It was either something like this or confiding in my doctor…which would have been nearly impossible. But eventually I would have done it—I would have done it for the sake of getting out. I know what you said about keeping quiet and letting the man have it, but…I'm sorry, I just wouldn't have been able to take it after a while. I had to get back out into the real world."

Once he'd finished, he bravely pulled his gaze from the table and directed it back at George, who looked—for the first time since he'd known him—ridden with emotions. Emotions he never thought he'd see displayed on George, the most dominant of which was disappointment. Cody could see the disappointment lodge itself in George's eyes, and then expand over his entire face, becoming more and more pronounced as the seconds past until he appeared to be absolutely crestfallen.

Cody wanted to puke. _What have I done? _He stammered for an apology: "George…buddy…look, man…I'm …I didn't mean…George, I…" But unable to utter a coherent sentence, he soon gave up.

And then, like a brief mid-summer breeze, the sadness vanished from George's face and was replaced by a condescending smirk—a smirk that positively jeered. "The real world?" he mused. "The _real_ world?" He laughed as though he'd just heard a pathetic joke. "Let me tell you something, Cody, the real world is just like in here. You think things are better now that you've rejoined society? In society, people _own_ you. They tell you what to think! They start when you're a child, pumping you full of all these facts you'll never use, and then they make you into who they want you to be. They force you to do things _their _way—if you don't, you're either crazy or you have an attitude problem; they mold you into somebody, Cody. They make you bust your ass eight hours a day _every_ day…make you do it _willingly_, thinkin' you'll get something for it in the long run. And you believe them. You totally fucking believe them cause they've made you gullible. You work and you work, and you never complain. And before you know it, you're shriveled up and dying and you have nothing at all. You know why? Because all you worked for went to someone else—to a government who spent it on needless wars and technology you'd never see, to a psychiatrist who's nuttier than his patients, to a cop who commits the crimes he arrests people for. _That's _crazy, Cody, and that's what people do every damn day! Face it, the whole world's insane. There's nothing special about the people like me!"

Cody breathed out slowly, wanting to keep his encounter with George civil, reminding himself that George had good reason to think ill of society. He understood that George had had it rough—beyond rough, in fact—before coming to Fairoaks. His life in the "real world" had been hell on Earth. "I'm sorry you see it that way," he said amicably. "But…I still think what happened to me, as scary as it was, was for the best. As fucked up as the outside world is, I'd rather be out there than in here. At least I can live my own life." _Unlike you_, he thought, but he held back from saying that. "I'm sorry if all this is hurting you, George. I never wanted to disappoint you. I just…I guess…" Cody fumbled for the right way to elucidate his position, but didn't find it. "I don't know. I guess, in the long run I'm just torn. I know I'm going to miss you, but I'm also glad to have my freedom back." He shrugged. "I'm just hard to read, man. That's all there is to it."

George gave a patronizing laugh. "Hard to read my ass! You're easy to read, Cody. You haven't told me jack about your life, but it doesn't matter cause I know you anyway. I know all about you."

"Oh yeah?" Cody shot back, testing him. "What kinda person am I?"

George remained unaffected. "You're the kind of person who doesn't know where they fit," he answered simply.

Cody snorted. "That's not saying much. That's practically everybody."

"But you used to _think_ you knew. There was a time when you could have sworn you knew exactly who you were and where you were going in life…but you were wrong."

"How do _you_ know?"

"You were in here, weren't you? I bet you never thought that _this_ was where you'd end up." George gestured toward the white walls surrounding them, which, at that particular moment, looked just as sinister as the inside of one of the asylum's cells. "You wanted to define yourself. You wanted to mold yourself into something of your liking…because you lived in a shadow."

"What in hell are you talking about?" Cody asked bitterly, trying to mask his abrupt feelings of anxiousness.

"Your brother's shadow, Cody," George replied. "That's what I'm talking about. Zack's shadow."

Cody crossed his arms, ready to challenge George in a verbal confrontation if he had to. "Oh, so this is about Zack," he said defensively. "Tell me, George, what do _you_ know about Zack?"

"I don't have to know anything about him to know that he made you feel inferior."

"How do you figure?"

"Come on, Cody! _You_ should be able to tell_ me_ that. You're a younger twin, for crying out loud! Your mom didn't even know about you until the day you were born. Zack was expected; you weren't. I bet she had plans for him…expectations. Things she was excited about. But she had none of that for you. She couldn't because she didn't know you existed; she didn't want you. You were an afterthought to her—an extra burden!"

"Hey, why don't you just shut up! Alright?" Cody snapped, infuriated. "Just shut the fuck up! You don't know anything about it!"

"What?" George said shamelessly. "You said you wanted to know what kind of person you are, so I'm telling you." He continued, even though he knew Cody didn't want him to…because he felt Cody needed to hear it. "All your childhood, I bet you were known as 'Zack's little brother' or 'Zack's clone.' You were just something that was added to_ him_. So you differentiated yourself. He was good at sports, so you decided to hit the books. He was lazy, so you busted your ass working hard…just trying to make mama proud. He didn't care to learn anything, so you convinced yourself that you wanted to learn all you possibly could."

"Shut _up, _George!"

George didn't shut up. He went on defiantly—fiercely: "But, deep down, you didn't want to be that way. You didn't _want _to become a boring little brainiac; you just felt you had to. What you really wanted was to be more like Zack, but you told yourself that you didn't… because you were determined to be your own person. You're nobody if not your own person, right Cody? You wanted to be 'Cody Martin' instead of 'Zack's little brother.' You wanted it so badly that you turned your whole life into a magnificent fucking lie!"

Cody was shaking his head vigorously but that didn't stop George. Just the opposite—it enticed him. He could see, through Cody's passionate denial, that he was getting somewhere with him...to the place where no one else, least of all his psychiatrist, had ever gone. "And after a while, you started to like it. You got excited about all that knowledge. You had to, or your efforts would have been for nothing. Your life was an illusion, Cody, and you _wanted_ it that way. You wanted it because you hated the truth. You secluded yourself from everything around you because you thought it'd be better that way. You thought you could keep yourself from getting hurt. You wouldn't let yourself get close to anybody."

"That's not true!" Cody finally exploded. "I never wanted to be like Zack, and I _did_ know people! I knew lots of people. I told you about some of them! I made friends, I dated, I—"

"That doesn't mean anything, Cody. Sure, you talked to people, and you went on a date here and there; you even got serious with that one chick you said you met on the boat."

"Bailey," Cody stated. "I loved her. I wanted to marry her once."

"But you didn't really _know_ her, Cody. You stopped knowing people a long time ago. You isolated yourself inside your own private little box and stayed there. You thought you could numb yourself…but you couldn't. Underneath all that sense and reason you jammed into your head, you still felt pathetic. You were weak. And that's what killed you, Cody. That's what made you pick up that gun and try to end it!

Before he could stop it, Cody's seething fury boiled over. "NO, THAT WASN'T IT! IT WAS A GIRL!" he screamed. Then he realized just how loud he was being and lowered his voice a little. "I told you the first day I met you that it was a girl! Her name was Brianna Marston"—Cody couldn't believe he'd actually managed to say her name without feeling the urge to gag—"I dated her and she cheated on me! She dumped me, George! She hurt me and I realized then that life was just not worth living. We're all destined to love someone—or something—and all that does is get us hurt! The heart…it doesn't listen to your brain! It does its own thing. It always will, and _that's_ what's pathetic! Life is pathetic, George! Life is a nasty joke. Everyone's forced to swim in their own pain. I would think that you, of all people, would _know_ that!"

"I do know that, Cody," George remarked, unbothered by Cody's snarky comment. "But that's beside the point. You didn't try to kill yourself over some girl. No, you were dead long before you even considered pulling that trigger. You killed yourself emotionally, over feelings of worthlessness that haunted you since you were a kid. The slut was just the last little push over the edge—the final straw that made you think you couldn't take anymore. But she didn't make you crazy, Cody. You made _yourself_ crazy."

"I'm not crazy!"

"Everyone's crazy. You're no exception. The only difference between you and me is how we _got_ that way…and the fact that if you left this earth, people would miss you. But other than that, we're the same. Rejected by your precious society for the same goddamn reason…thrown in here like castoffs."

Cody didn't reply. He couldn't. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he didn't know which to pick.

A long pause ensued as Cody fumed, his vision clouded by a crimson haze and his heart jack-hammering in his delicate chest like a dangerously overheating motor. "Fuck you, George!" he finally said, his voice oozing with resentment and accusation. "You're one to talk! The only reason _you're_ in here is because you have nowhere else better to go! That's the difference between us, George! You _need_ this place! You need it because it makes you feel important. The only reason you're crawling up my ass now is because you're jealous of me! My mother may not have known about me but she loved me! And Zack loved me too! And I _knew_ that! But that's different from you, George. _Nobody_ loved you! Your mother didn't love you, you're father left you, your sister barely knew you…life outside these walls was shit for you! But in here, you feel like you have a purpose. In here, people take care of you…the way they should have taken care of you from the beginning!" Cody paused and looked hard at George, wondering whether or not to go on. He did: "And if it's not in here, then it's on the streets, back in the gang life. That's your other option! You're either a poor, crazy bastard, or you're a criminal! I still have a shot at life, George. You don't! You said so yourself, you're going to sit in here till you rot; but it's not because of the doctors. It's because of _you_…because _you_ refuse to let yourself get released. You refuse to talk to people! You said you had no secrets but you and I both know that that's just bullshit. You have secrets just like everyone else does, but you won't reveal them. You won't because, deep down, you _want_ to stay here! This place is a godsend to you!"

Both boys were silent for a long moment, savoring the poison that had become of their friendship.

Then George gave one last snort and told Cody to get the fuck out, and Cody left.

As Cody made his way down the hallway toward the asylum's lobby, he felt tears sting his eyes. He tried as hard as he could to hold them back, but they fell anyway. He was angry. Angrier than he'd ever been in the past—angrier than when he and George were fighting; angrier than when he'd been told that he was being sent to a psychiatric ward; angrier than when he'd found out (God, it seemed like ages ago) that his girlfriend, Brianna Marston, had cheated on him. Angry both at George and himself.

At George for being right about him.

At himself for being right about George.


	19. Chapter 19

**This has got to be the saddest chapter in the entire story (and I say that with confidence, taking all previous chapters into account). I actually cried a little while writing it, and that's saying something because I rarely cry. I couldn't help it; George is just so real to me. Some of the content in this chapter is absolutely disgusting; I tell you that as a warning. **

**After reading, you may want to ask **_**why **_**I would write something like this (and I wouldn't blame you if you did); the answer is simple—for the sake of the story, George must be the most tragic character. Through his "secrets," hopefully you'll understand why he was caught in a self-perpetuating cycle, why he was practically emotionless, and why Fairoaks was a "godsend" to him. **

**On a side note, you guys are in for more about Zack and Bailey. Though I think some of you might be disappointed. Just remember, I endeavor to be realistic. **

**Question: Should this story be rated M instead of T? I probably should have changed it a long time ago; I just never thought of it until now. **

Cody's homecoming was awkward, to say the least. That is, if it could even be called a "homecoming." It felt more like the recurrence of a dream—a beautiful dream, no less, but still a dream. He was taken to the Tipton upon his release from the hospital, and in many ways that spelled victory for him because it meant he was truly out of Fairoaks Asylum, and in a place where he knew he could be himself. A place he'd known throughout most of his life as "home." However, it was also a place that carried more memories than he cared to relive. Memories that clenched his stomach and brought tears to his eyes.

Childhood memories are the worst. Cody instantly learned that once he walked through the hotel doors.

The welcome he received wasn't much of a welcome either. There were hugs and tears and kind words involved (predominantly from Zack, Mr. Moseby and Bailey), just as one would have expected, but there was also a hovering sense of embarrassment and overall awkwardness. It was impossible to shake the feeling that things were being gone about the wrong way—that there should have been some resentment and confusion mixed in with the joy and relief.

After all, how should one welcome home a boy who'd been sent away for trying to kill himself? For willingly causing so much grief? It hardly seemed fitting that he should get a soldier-like greeting.

But no one had the heart to express this emotion. No one had the heart to yell at him, or criticize him, or condemn him in any way. It would hurt too much, and God knew, they'd already had their fair share of hurt. So they let this feeling go and compensated for it by acting overjoyed.

Cody saw through their façade. He didn't say a word about it.

In fact, he pretty much reverted into himself altogether. He knew it wasn't healthy to do that, but he lacked the energy to be more outgoing and assertive (two things he never really was anyway). He didn't speak much beyond a simple "thanks" or "sure" or "no problem" or "yeah, I'm okay." Despite being fully aware that one-word responses were somewhat of a cop out, he just couldn't force himself to say much more.

His mind was on his argument with George. He desperately did not want to think about that but no matter how many times he tried to push it to the back of his mind, it refused to budge. The memory of what they'd said to each other paraded through his head like a horrible case of déjà vu—or worse yet, a nightmare—and he was unable to ignore it. "You wanted to define yourself," George had said. "You wanted to mold yourself into something of your liking…because you lived in a shadow…Zack's shadow."

Cody hated to admit it, but George had been absolutely right. And not just about that, but about _everything_—the self-seclusion, the loathing, the disappointment, the fact that he'd felt like a pathetic loser and an "extra burden" to his poor mother. The truth of George's words was searing. Burning like a red-hot fire poker against his skull. And it infuriated him—made him want to punch a hole in the wall and scream until his voice became hoarse.

However, on the flip side of that, he'd also been right about George—right about his love of Fairoaks…or, more accurately, his love of a place where he was cared for. The fact that most of the people there treated him like a piece of furniture was beside the point; he was given a bed, three meals a day, a chance to talk to somebody (a nosy psychiatrist counted), showers, entertainment…and what more could he want? It was either that or a life of crime, which he'd already gotten a taste of during his teenage years.

Or a life with his mother, and that would have been pure foolishness.

Cody had known for a while that George was stuck at that asylum. He didn't want to believe it at first, in hopes that George would one day get himself released and find some happiness in the world. But now it had been apparent—Fairoaks, despite its short-comings, despite all the scorn it deserved, was a blessing to George. It was far better than where he'd come from.

And besides, it wasn't like George was interested in finding happiness. He'd stopped looking for that a long time ago. Now he was just concerned about the bare basics of life. The necessities for survival.

They were all he knew he could trust.

Cody's thought-processes took up majority of his time. Despite how grateful he was to be out of Fairoaks (and the hospital, for that matter), he did a great deal of sitting in peace and thinking. He couldn't help it; there was _so _much to think about. So much to evaluate.

His evaluations exhausted him. In addition to thinking, he slept a lot too. Sleep was something he specifically loved to do. He hadn't had a good night's sleep, it seemed, in ages. He didn't realize how much he missed the quietness of nighttime until he was back in his old bed, relishing it. It was heavenly.

Sometimes it was hard to fall asleep, due to his inability to shut off his brain, but he always made up for that. He started a new habit of jotting down his thoughts (in the form of spark notes) as they came to him and told himself that he would continue them the next day; that way, they wouldn't be lost. He could revisit them any time he wanted. And it worked. It worked like a charm.

Also, he jotted down plans. He reasoned that having day-to-day lists of plans would be a good way to begin his life of freedom. He was right about that. Plans gave him something to look forward to—a purpose. A motivation to get up every morning.

Not all his plans worked out. In fact, several of them didn't. But there was one plan he'd written down that he knewwould happen. He'd make it happen, because he couldn't bear for it not to. His conscience wouldn't allow it not to:

The following visiting day at Fairoaks, he was going back to see George.

To tell him he'd been right. To forgive him. To beg _his _forgiveness. And to set things right.

…

With Cody regaining his old bed, Bailey had to be moved to a different suite; room 2330 had no more sleeping space except the floor, and none of the Martins felt it hospitable to make their guest sleep there. Since there weren't any more vacant suites, according to Mr. Moseby, Bailey resorted to asking London Tipton if she could sleep on her couch, to which the hotel heiress agreed (and had offered her extra sheets, blankets, and a pillow). Old friends as they were, the arrangement gave them a chance to catch up with each other. Telling each other all they'd done since graduating "Seven Seas High."

Bailey was grateful for it. With all the commotion over Cody's return from Fairoaks, talking about her little farm in Kansas while sitting in a deluxe hotel suite was a pleasant getaway. And of course, hearing stories about shopping sprees, paparazzi photos, and jet-rides in return was enjoyable too.

But no amount of "girl-time"—and no amount of catching up—could offset this sudden feeling of unease that had taken hold of her. She was immensely happy that Cody was home, that was for certain. However, she felt self-consciousness whenever the twins were together (which was often now). Whenever she saw one brother hug the other, or one say they loved the other, or one call the other "bro," she was hit by a burst of nausea in the pit of her stomach.

At first, she had no idea where it came from and worried about it, as she used to love seeing displays of brotherly affection between them.

But then, one day it came to her. Completely out of the blue while she was contemplating about it.

She understood, to a degree, why she felt strange.

And it had nothing to do with _brotherly _affection.

…

One evening, as Cody was brushing his teeth, Kurt was (surprisingly) washing dishes, and Carey was on her way down to do the hotel lounge to do her first show in weeks, there was a knock at the door and Zack—who'd been waiting for his chance in the bathroom—went to go get it.

It was Bailey.

"Oh, hey Bailey," he said. "Come to say goodnight to us?"

"Well…not exactly," Bailey replied candidly, and then furthered her answer by, "But yeah, that too."

She could have smacked herself in the head. That had made no logical sense, whatsoever.

"I mean, I _do_ wish you all a good night," she tried again. "But Zack, I need to talk to you. In private."

Zack was instantly nervous. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, not wanting to pressure him. "No, everything's fine. I just really need to talk to you for a second."

"Um…" Zack seemed hesitant. Sheepishly, he looked back toward the bathroom, where he could faintly hear his brother gargling and spitting out mouthwash. He didn't like leaving Cody, even when Cody wouldn't technically be left alone. "Are you sure it's something my dad can't hear also?"

"Dad can't hear what?" asked Kurt from over near the kitchen sink, turning toward them with a wet plate in one hand and a dish towel in the other. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Zack lied. "Bailey and I just need to talk."

"Is something wrong?"

"No." _I hope not. _"There's just something we need to discuss. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Okay, but remember—we're picking your car up tomorrow morning, Zack. So I'd advise you not to stay up too late."

The following morning was going to be both busy and stressful for Kurt and Zack. They were going to drive down to the impound lot to retrieve Zack's car, but that was actually the last thing on the list. First, they would have to go to the Finance Business Center and pay a 100-dollar parking fee for Zack's parking violation, ask the people there for a Vehicle Release Form, fill that out, and on the way to the impound lot, stop at the Police Department to pay additional fees (which, for the time being, would have to come predominantly from Zack's credit card), and then—finally—go to the lot, hand over the form, and take the car. That was the plan, anyway.

Zack was anxious to get his car back. But at the same time, he wasn't looking forward to the fees…or to the critical expressions of the people he'd be paying. He kept telling himself that it was just one of those consequences he'd sworn to accept in the name of his actions.

And getting his car back was worth it.

"We'll just be a few minutes," Bailey promised Kurt, peering at him from around Zack.

Zack nodded to his father in assurance, and once his father nodded back, he walked out of suite 2330, closed the door behind him, and then stood in the empty hallway with his arms crossed. "So…what did you want to talk about?"

Bailey looked both ways before replying, and when she spoke—even though there was no one in sight—her voice was practically a whisper: "I think we should talk about…you know…what we did."

For a second there, Zack wasn't sure what she was talking about; worrying about Cody, not to mention getting arrested, had rendered his memory useless. "What _did_ we do?" he asked ignorantly.

"Zack!" Bailey said disbelievingly.

Ironically, as soon as she said that he remembered. "Oh…right," he uttered guiltily, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry. My memory's been shot lately."

"That's okay," she forgave him. "I understand. Everything's been happening so fast."

Zack nodded in agreement.

"It's hard to keep up with it all."

Again, he nodded in agreement.

"I just thought I should tell you"—Bailey looked Zack directly in the eyes—"…since we didn't get the chance to talk about it sooner…whenever I see you, I get this feeling in my stomach. It's strange…almost like nausea, but I don't mean that in a disgusted way." She paused, mortified at the way all this was coming out. "Frankly, I'm not sure if it's because I have feelings for you, or if it's because I'm feeling guilty…or, hell, maybe it has to do with Cody being home. I mean, he's my ex. It's only natural that I should feel weird seeing him." Bailey threw her hands up into the air, letting them flop against her hips as she sighed in frustration. "Ugh! God, I don't know what's wrong with me. I was hoping you could help; I think, deep down, that I would feel better if I knew exactly where we stand. I think it would be better for the both of us if we established what we are and came to a consensus."

Zack looked at her in concentration for a moment, and then gave her his answer: "Alright. I agree. We should do that."

Bailey waited, giving Zack the floor.

"Bailey," he said, "what we did—I don't know what the heck it was, but it felt right. It was the best thing I'd felt in a long time. Even before I was thrust into this mess. And I needed it. God knows, I really did."

Bailey waited some more, anticipating that inevitable 'but,' which she knew, even before he said it, was coming.

"But the timing and the place where we did it were wrong. It was naïve, and senseless, and rash." Now it was his turn to sigh. "I'm kind of sorry to say this, but nothing like that can happen again."

"Ever?" Bailey was astonished by how meek her voice was.

She didn't feel as though she was in love with Zack, but she couldn't deny that when her lips had been attached to his, she'd felt exhilarated—ecstatic. The fact that that would never happen again wounded her far more than she thought it would.

Zack composed himself, bent on his resolution. "Ever."

He noticed that a part of Bailey was dejected. "You're here for Cody, not for me," he explained. "Your coming here had nothing to do with me."

Bailey took a minute to swallow a lump in her throat. "You're right, it didn't. I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I—I mean, when we—kissed. We shouldn't have. I'm so sorry, Zack."

"Don't apologize. I leaned into you first so the fault is mine. Just know that I won't do it again. We've both got too much to worry about besides whatever came between us that day. Let's just be here for Cody, okay?"

Bailey nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks Bailey."

Zack leaned in and enfolded her in a warm embrace. "I'll always consider you one of my best friends," he continued, his chin resting on her shoulder. "And I'll always care about you. Never forget that."

"I won't," Bailey promised.

He then let her go and stepped back. "I'm sorry if you're disappointed. But my brother has to come first. I can't be distracted. The last time I was distracted when he needed me…"

"Shhh…" Bailey gently shushed him. "You don't have to go into that. I get it, believe me."

"I'm just trying to be a good brother to him, you know—the brother he deserves."

Suddenly Zack heard the clanging of a dish hitting a hard surface, and a muffled "Shit!" coming from his father. "I think I should go back in now," he said, semi-amused, "before my dad breaks something—or something else, as the case may be. Normally, he's banned from the kitchen; but our mom's doing a show tonight and he just couldn't pass up an opportunity to show us how 'fatherly' he can be."

"Aww, that's sweet."

"It's a pride and dignity thing, I think—you know? Anything women can do men can do too. Something like that."

Bailey chuckled.

"Well, I'm gonna go." Zack turned toward the door.

"Wait, Zack?"

Doorknob in hand, he shifted sideways to look back at her. "Yeah?"

"You're a good brother."

…

The night of his argument with Cody, George did something he hadn't done since he was a little boy—he cried himself to sleep. Wrapped in his detergent-smelling sheets, facing the wall next to his bed, he thought about what he and Cody had said to each other, remembering certain phrases only once and others several times. Putting the words that had pierced the most—yet had been the most truthful—on an endless loop:

"_The only reason _you're_ in here is because you have nowhere else to go!"_

"_In here, people take care of you…the way they should have taken care of you from the beginning!"_

"_I have a shot at life, George. You don't!"_

"_You said you had no secrets but you and I both know that that's just bullshit!"_

"_This place is a godsend to you!"_

"Click!" went his mental replay button.

He wanted to hate Cody for what he'd said. He tried to hate him. He tried to picture Cody's face exactly how it looked when those words had come out his mouth, and feel the wrath that he had felt towards him then—that raw rage clawing at his insides.

He tried to, but failed.

He _didn't_ hate Cody. If anything, he loved him. Loved him for being straightforward and direct. Loved him for defending himself, rather than shrinking away under accusations. Loved him for having insight, despite how self-absorbed he'd seemed beforehand. Loved him for disagreeing with him, and asking him questions, and listening to his life story.

Loved him for being his first real friend, in spite of their differences.

George loved Cody, and trying to convince himself otherwise was a lost cause if there ever was one.

George almost felt pathetic admitting it to himself. After all those years of suppressing his emotions—all those years of not caring—he'd come to feel a measure of affection for someone. It was so shocking. Like an epiphany—a realization that altered the very foundation on which George defined himself. Part of him was angry about it and cursed Cody's name: _Look what you've done to me! _he inwardly shouted to a sympathetic mental image of Cody. _I love you, you bastard. And it hurts. It hurts like I've been shot in the chest!_

He had to laugh at the irony of that comparison.

_Why does love have to hurt so much? They say hate destroys. I think love does too. Damn!_

But there was more to it than that—more to his pain that he hadn't yet acknowledged:

_I miss him. _

_Oh my God! I miss him. I really miss the little punk. I mean, I know I didn't want him to die before, but that's not exactly the same thing as missing him. _

_But I do. I totally fucking do. I miss him. _

_And I want him to come back. _

George scoffed at himself. _Like that's gonna happen! He probably hates your guts right now, just like everyone else in your life—he either hates you or he pities you. _

_Either way, he doesn't want to see you. _

_He'll have nothing to do with you ever again. _

_Face it George, you worthless piece of shit, you had a good friend and you lost him. You _were_ right about him—every word you told him was absolutely true. But what difference does it make? You'll never see him again. You love him and he hates you, and now you're lying here feeling sorry for yourself._

_Because you lost him. _

_And because you love him _for_ hating you. _

With those thoughts plaguing his mind, George succumbed to his insecurities and pain and dissolved into a mass of choking sobs. His thin body curled into a ball, his shoulders quaked with tremors, his eyes poured the tears they'd been devoid of for so long, and every barrier he'd ever built around his emotions came crashing down.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. Like he was sinking under the surface of an ocean, drowning.

He hoped he was drowning.

…

George had cried well into the night before finally falling asleep. And the next day, he cried some more. It was as though his body decided it was time to make up for all those years of unshed tears. George tried to hold them back, but in the end his body won out. And he was too exhausted to put up much of a struggle.

As he sat on his bed in the early morning, his legs crossed as usual, he hung his head low and let the sobs come rumbling out of him. It was no longer embarrassing, or something to be ashamed of. He didn't care how pitiful he looked, or how ridiculous he was being for crying on such a nice day, or how his crying wouldn't solve anything. In fact, he'd pretty much stopped caring entirely.

He didn't know himself anymore. The George he had worked so hard to construct was gone.

_So I guess this is what it feels like to be an emotional wreck. _

He didn't know what he wanted, or what he should do, or why things were the way they were anymore. He used to _think _he knew, but all his certainty—all his confidence and bravado—had vanished. Leaving in its wake a shell that was filled with memories, and hurt, and love, and fear.

In ways, he felt like an invaded city. His once-powerful stronghold had been torn down, leaving him helpless and vulnerable to his attackers.

Who were his attackers? Emotions. Or, more specifically, an excess of emotions.

An excess of love, which he'd kept bottled up so tightly that it had been bound to erupt.

_I'm coming undone. _

He moved to the edge of his bed, pulled back the corner of his mattress, and took a long look at his stashed pills. They seemed to be gazing back at him, mocking him for thinking he was better than them—for having the audacity to think he could manage without them. They laughed at him: _Haha! Get a load of you! You're a mess! _

George was tempted to give in and take one—to pop it in his mouth and sigh in chemically-induced relief.

_No! _his inner defiant self protested. _You can't give up. Then they win!_

_Think about what made you decide to quit taking them._

George thought back. He remembered perfectly—the news of Cody's sedation, and the fear that he might die. He'd wanted some leverage incase Cody _did_ die. He'd wanted a means to escape.

_A means to escape—that's what you wanted. A key to freedom—a way to be with Cody, the one person who's ever cared about you. You didn't want to live without him. _

_Because you love him. You started loving him _before _you skipped your meds. You just didn't realize it until you were told he could die. _

_We never know what we love, or how much we love something, until we're faced with losing it. _

_Cody's your best friend. He's like a brother to you. He's the only thing you have. _

_Or _had, _I should say…because you've lost him. He's not dead, but you'll still have to live without him. Irony. _

George released the corner of his mattress and backed up onto the center of his bed. He sat there for what felt like an hour (but was most likely about five minutes), before burying his face into his hands and allowing, once again, for the weight of loss to engulf him.

It consumed him like a fire.

And as he burned in his own misery, he cried.

He cried, and cried, and cried.

It was around noontime when the childhood memories emerged—not the ones he'd told Cody when he'd given him a rundown of his life. No, the darker ones…the ones he'd never told anybody. The ones he'd buried along with his emotions and sought so hard to forget.

The ones Cody had referred to as his "secrets." _"You said you had no secrets but you and I both know that that's just bullshit!"_—there were those words again, straight from Cody's lips. Engrained now within George's brain. How true they had been.

_You were right, Cody. I didn't tell you but you were right all along; I do have secrets like everyone else. I just couldn't tell you because I'd spent so much time endeavoring to cast them out. I had to, or I would have been…oh God, I hate to even think what would have happened to me. _

George relived those secrets now: he envisioned a seven-year-old version of himself being goaded to a private street corner by his pregnant mother and told that he would soon have to take on a massive responsibility. His mother was just a little over three months along at the time and had just started to show, which was bad news for her hooking profession. What man wanted to spend money on a big, pregnant woman? "I can't bring in the money anymore, George," she'd said. "Not now that I'm knocked up. Can't start making money again till I pop this little sucker outta me"—her hands went to her slightly swollen belly, and George thought, _Am I a sucker?_—"You gotta be the man now, George. Okay? You gotta take over for me now. Or else we'll starve—you, me, and the baby." George considered what it would be like to starve; he couldn't quite fathom it, as he'd never once gone more than a few hours without food, but he imagined that it would be horrible. So he quickly agreed.

And that's when his hell started.

His mother taught him "tricks of the trade," as she called them—twirl like that, bat your lashes here, wink there, hold this pose…little gimmicks that he would need to "bring in customers." He was a fast learner, and soon enough, there was a line up. Mostly middle-aged men with child fetishes, and they often brought items from home, or elsewhere, to enhance their pleasures: chains, whips, exotic dresses, devices from tool sheds (as some of them were turned on by bondage and torture schemes).

He remembered once being chained to a pillar in an abandoned metro station, screaming for his mother to save him while his "customer" waved wrenches, nails, saws, and drill guns in his face, threatening to "cut him like a little bitch." He never actually did, but seven-year-old George had been terrified nonetheless. So terrified that he'd peed his pants, which later invoked a beating from his mother, who'd responded to his pleas by simply saying, "It's nothing to piss about; it's just business."

He also remembered having his picture taken…frequently. There was one "customer" who hadn't wanted to do anything beyond take pictures of George, to which George's mother had replied, "Whatever your pleasure, sir. But mind you, it'll still cost the same." The man agreed and had arranged a series of photo shoots, all with one major theme: George outfitted as a sensuously clad girl. The individual photos consisted of several variations: George sucking on his fingers, George dancing, George holding a dildo in every which way, George masturbating, etc. At the end of it, George had complained to his mother, crying, "But I'm not a girl, Mommy! You told me I was your little _boy_! I want to be a boy, Mommy. I don't want to be a girl!"

"Shut up!" his mother had snapped. "You'll be whatever the fuck I _tell _you to be!"

He then remembered the worst, which had happened close to the time his little sister was due to be born. These two guys, who were friends, had wanted to simultaneously be "customers" of George's—to try out a deviant, out-of-the-ordinary technique they'd nicknamed "The Double Dong Routine." George fought the urge to gag as he remembered the sensation of choking—choking on one guy's cock—while trying to endure a horrid burst pain as the other was shoved into his backside. He'd clenched his eyes, hoping for it to be over soon…which it was after they'd both climaxed, one right after the other.

George had spit up the cum inside his mouth. And in the knowledge that more was inside him, he'd curled up into a little ball and began to sob. When the men left, they'd told George's mother that they were unsatisfied with "the service," and that they weren't going to pay—which had infuriated her. At first, she hadn't acted angry at George. In fact, she'd asked him if he wanted a soda, to which he answered, "Yes, please" (more to get rid of the taste in his mouth than to quench any thirst). However, while in the midst of drinking his _Pepsi_, he'd become a little too brave: "I don't wanna do this anymore, Mommy. It hurts. And it tastes bad. I don't wanna make money anymore. I'd rather starve."

That was when his mother had exploded. "You listen to me, you little fucker!" she'd yelled. "I brought you into this world and don't think I'm kidding when I say I can take you out. You have any idea what I've done for you? What I put myself through for your worthless ass? I coulda had a life! I coulda done the things I _wanted _to! But no, I had to get stuck with you! I raised you, didn't I? I'm raising you right now! The least you can do is help me out!" She'd slapped the half-full can of _Pepsi_ out of his hands, onto the floor, and then fussed at him for making a mess. "You're gonna clean that up!" she'd told him severely. "Now stop bawling and do as I say!"

Everything changed once Sherrie was born. When she was in the picture, and their mother was able to drop to her pre-pregnancy weight, George's days of childhood prostitution came to a close.

Then shortly afterward, he'd started school.

There were other bad memories—none as bad as when he was seven and his mother was pregnant—but still others. Like the time a divorced preacher had decided to take a walk on the wild side and, after finding out about George's sexual experiences with other males, called the boy an "instrument of the Devil" and had attempted to carve a 666 into his hip using a heated knife (luckily, his mother had been in one of her "sympathetic mommy" moods that day and had stopped him). Also, like the time he'd received a thrashing for vomiting on the carpet in his mother's new apartment.

And of course, his days in the gang weren't the best either. They'd been a shitload better than his life at home, but juvie had been a bitch.

_My whole existence was a bitch…and for the longest time, I'd acted as though it were perfectly natural. _

_As though nothing was ever wrong. _

George cried himself to sleep a second time. When he woke up two hours later, he came to a spontaneous but definite decision. He took another long look at his horde of pills. _A means to escape, _he thought. _A key to freedom._

…

"Okay George," called Nurse Richards as she opened the door to his room. "One last restroom break before lights out."

"As always," George added, acting as indifferent and casual as usual. He'd managed to stop crying hours ago, and luckily, his face no longer appeared flushed and drained.

Nurse Richards nodded. "As always."

George stood up and walked with her out into the hallway. As he approached the men's restroom, treading at her side, he made sure to take each step cautiously. The pills were hidden within his socks.

Typically, George never wore his socks—not when he was in his room. Bare feet had always been something he'd loved. Unbound feet. Whenever he was in privacy, he'd take off his socks and roll them up. He'd twiddle his toes, rub the bottoms of his feet against the soft sheets on his bed, swoosh them back and forth—anything to enjoy the sensation of boundless feet.

But now, he desperately needed his socks.

He had a plan, and without his socks on, he couldn't carry his plan out.

As soon as he was in the restroom, he walked up to one of the sinks and bent down to remove the pills. There were 14 of them in all, seven in each sock. Each tablet the equivalent of 375 mg (he was given one twice every day to reach the standard daily dose of 750 mg). A total of 5,250 mg in all—more than enough to do the trick.

In the palm of his hand, stacked on top of each other like a little white pyramid, they looked like a welcome gift rather than the scorning sign of defeat they'd appeared as before. George gazed at them, speculating on how he was holding fatality itself in his grasp. Respecting them for having so much power. For being much more than they seemed.

_Here goes nothing. _

He picked two pills from the top of the pile. Popped them into his mouth. Then, using his one free hand, he turned on the water faucet at the sink to a steady flow, cupped his hand under the stream to catch some of it—just enough to help the pills go down—and then brought it to his lips and slurped it up.

He swallowed.

_Two down. 12 more to go._

He did the same with the next two.

And the next two.

"George, are you okay?" asked Nurse Richards from outside the door. "You didn't fall in, did you?"

_Uh-oh, I have to hurry. _"I'm fine!" he replied. "I'm just gonna be a while!"

"_Greeeaat!_" returned Nurse Richards sarcastically. "You just _had_ to pick right before bed time to do a big one, didn't you?"

A slight smile crept across his face. "You know it!"

"Well, okay. Just make sure you're done before lights out."

_Oh, don't worry. I will be. _

George promptly popped the next two pills into his mouth.

Then the next two.

He looked down at his hand. Four more. Just _four more. _1,500 mg worth.

He popped them in all at once, and then cupped both hands beneath the sink for twice the amount of water. As he brought it to his lips, he thought, _Wait, what if I choke? _Then laughed. Automatic survival instinct. All humans had it.

After he'd swallowed the last pills, he went into one of the stalls and flushed the toilet to avoid arousing suspicion. Following that, he turned on the sink again—this time, to a harder flow so Nurse Richards could hear it.

"Okay, I'm coming out now!" he called out to her.

He met her standing at the side of the door, and together they made the journey back to his room. On the way, he pondered how early the Depakote would take effect. He figured it'd be at least twenty minutes, given that they were tablets and would need time to dissolve in his system (which effectively gave him plenty of time to make it to his room unharmed, his doings undetected). He would have time to think last thoughts, and to say his last prayers, and to drift off into sleep.

He liked the idea of dying in his sleep, comfortably. That was a luxury people were rarely afforded.

Once he was shut back in his room and the lights had all been turned off, the asylum came alive with resurrected demons. People screamed, and yelled, and threatened, and threw tantrums—their fear taking over them. The sounds of their anguish reverberated inside George's chest. He'd long gotten used to them—to the point where he could fall asleep listening to them.

But suddenly, he didn't _want _to fall asleep. He was afraid of the dreams—the nightmares. He didn't want them to be the last thing he experienced. He didn't want to be visited by images of his childhood—the strange men, sweating and grunting behind him; the many different costumes and positions; the pain as his skin tore; the sight of blood; the taste of cum, which one man had promised him would be like milk ("…doesn't taste like milk" he'd said after having it squirted into his mouth); the demands ("Call me 'Daddy!'" ordered another man.); the...the fear…the raw terror…the wretched crying as a stranger with a fat cock raped him. The penetration not just of his body, but of his innocence.

_I'll be damned if I have to relive that. _

So George thought about the one good thing his life had ever had: Cody. He pictured Cody's face—his happy face—and remembered some of the things he'd said prior to their fight.

_It's funny—his past and my past are as different from each other as night and day, yet we had so much in common. We both were unable to face the truth about us. Both didn't understand what fucked us up._

Then he realized something: _We saved each other. I saved him and he saved me. We forced each other to see the light, kicking and screaming the whole way…but we forced each other anyway because we had to. Because that's what friends do._

_And Cody's my friend. He's the first real friend I've ever had. _

_Don't forget, you've lost him, _reminded that cynical part of him. _You lost him in the process of leading him into the light. _

_I know, _replied the other. _That's why I did what I did. I don't want to live if he's not with me. _

_But I can still remember him. _

_And I can still thank him. _

"Thank you, Cody," George whispered into the dark, his eyes staring up toward the ceiling. "Thank you for saving me."

_Aren't you going to say "You're welcome" in return? _asked his cynical self. _After all, you saved him too. _

_No, _said the other simply. _Friends don't ask for anything in return. At least, real friends don't. _

A few minutes later, 5,350 mg worth of Depakote began to take effect.

He began to feel drowsy—abnormally drowsy. His eyelids closed on their own and he slipped into a light comatose state. His breathing grew shallower, his heartbeats lessened. Step by step, the drug shut his body down until he slipped even further into a coma, and then from there travelled to death.

George Tanner died alone in room 312, at Fairoaks Asylum. Sprawled out across his bed, one leg hanging off the edge, and both arms at his sides.

When he was found the next morning, it looked as if he was smirking.


	20. Chapter 20

**Some good news and some bad news (or good news and good news, depending on how you look at it): First, the chapter following this one—chapter 21—will officially mark the completion of this story…and it's going to be the epilogue, so in a way, this is the last "main" chapter. I want to thank you all for the spectacular reviews; they've really inspired me and kept me going. :)**

**And that brings me to my second bit of news: the story's not over yet. Yes, you read right—the story's not over. There's going to be a SEQUEL! I capitalized for emphasis, in case you're wondering. ;) A few chapters back I came to realize that, with a story this intricate, I'd eventually reach a point where I just wouldn't be able to add in all that I wanted to. I've since reached that point, and find myself looking at three choices: A) say "to heck" with the rest of the story and let you all imagine whatever you wish; B) make this story a **_**lot **_**longer than 21 chapters (which is out of the question, btw); or C) write a sequel. I'm opting for C. **

**Just so you all know ahead of time, the sequel will be titled **_**Boy, Reinvented **_**and it will take place one year after the events of this story. :) I must give fair warning though: don't get too excited yet. It won't be posted for a while (I'm still sorting out ideas for it). In the meantime, I'll be working on my two other stories (see my profile :P) as well as posting my very first oneshot (because I'm so determined to have at least one under my belt). **

**Disclaimer: As you all know, I don't own **_**The Suite Life**_** series. **

It was raining the day Cody came back to Fairoaks, which hardly seemed fitting as he was feeling rather good about being there and had it in mind what he planned to say to George upon seeing him. He'd thought long and hard about his second visit and was quite certain that he could straighten out his and George's relationship; after all, George wouldn't say no to sex jokes…or ramblings about authority. And Cody had plenty of both to spare.

As Cody sprinted towards the main building's front entrance from his mother's car, using an old magazine to shield the top of his head from the downpour (since he'd foolishly forgotten an umbrella), he risked a glance in her direction, smiling confidently at her concerned, distorted face behind the drenched window. She didn't feel comfortable with letting him drive yet, but had agreed—somewhat reluctantly—to drop him off at Fairoaks for an hour to visit "an old friend."

He couldn't tell if she was smiling back, but he hardly cared. It was too late for turning back anyhow.

The asylum's lobby still smelled like pumpkins, and as soon as he'd past the threshold, the smell wafted to his nose, making him almost swoon. It was exactly the same as he remembered it. If he didn't have such horrid memories of the place, the familiar fragrance might have seemed welcoming to him. But alas, it merely served to send a shiver up his spine.

Margaret O'Donnell, the lady sitting behind the front desk, recognized him. "Back again?" she inquired, the tight skin of her face stretching like rubber across the balls of her cheekbones as she smiled in greeting. "And who would you like to see this time?"

Cody was taken aback by her question. _Who does she think I want to see? Dr. Thompson? _"Same person I saw last week," he answered. "George Tanner."

Margaret O'Donnell raised an eyebrow. "George Tanner?" she mused. "I'm afraid that's impossible."

"Why?" wondered Cody.

Margaret looked as though he'd told her he wanted to see a ghost—or a nonexistent person. "Haven't you read any of the obituaries in last week's papers?" she wanted to know, sounding as though she was criticizing him for not doing so.

"Um, no," Cody replied. "I'm honestly not big on reading newspapers. I kind of protest them because, well, practically nobody reads them anymore, and too many trees are cut down to print them."

Margaret shook her head disapprovingly. "Kids!" she groaned. "What is the world coming to?"

It was a rhetorical question so Cody didn't respond to it. Instead, he waited for her to tell him what reading obituaries had to do with visiting George.

When she did, her tone was condescending: "George Tanner is deceased."

Cody felt himself go numb. _Wait…what? Did I just hear her right? It sounded like she said George is "deceased"—as in, dead. But, that can't be right. No, she must have said "diseased." He must be sick with something._

_But that doesn't explain the obituaries._

"So…what does he have?" he asked, overcome by a desperate need to bank on the idea that George was simply ill.

He waited anxiously for her answer.

Margaret shot him a baffled—if somewhat peeved—look. "Are you trying to be cute?" she snapped. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"A joke?" Cody nearly laughed. "No, see, I wasn't going to start joking until I saw George." _Keep thinking positive, keep thinking positive. Best case scenario, best case scenario. George is just sick, just sick. Diseased, diseased._ "I don't mind if he's contagious, honestly. I'd like to see him anyway. Can I please go to the visiting room?"

The look on Margaret's face transformed from one of puzzlement to one of worry—one that said, "Oh dear, he's gone off the deep end." "Are you sure you're feeling alright, Mr. Martin? Perhaps someone should have a look at you."

"No, no, I'm fine," Cody said assuredly. "I just really want to see George. If I absolutely can't, would it be okay if I, um, left a message for him? You know, to let him know I came."

Margaret shook her head, partially in disbelief and partially in confusion. "Sir, either you heard me wrong," she told him earnestly, "or you should speak to one of our psychiatrists immediately."

When Cody looked at her with disdain, she added, loudly, "I said George is _deceased_! You do know what 'deceased' means, don't you?"

Cody's heart skipped a beat. _Deceased? Deceased? George is deceased? Actually deceased, as in dead? No…no, that can't be. _"N…no. No, you must be mistaken. You must have him mixed up with someone else. I said George _Tanner_." Cody thought it might help to describe him: "Tall, thin…has dark, curly hair…stays in room 312. My ex-roommate."

"I know perfectly well who you were talking about," Margaret clarified. "And I am telling you, Mr. Martin, he is deceased—dead, in case you didn't know. He was removed from the premises a week ago, on the day he died. He's no longer here, sir, and you can no longer see him." A small hint of sympathy shown in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."

Cody gazed at her for a long minute, trying determinedly to find some ounce of deceit in her mannerisms. Or some measure of uncertainty. When he found none, he had to look away. He shifted his eyes down towards the carpet, trying to sooth his muddled mind by concentrating on its color. All the while, Margaret's words etched themselves into him. The word "deceased" wedged itself painfully into his head, and no matter how many times he tried to remove it, he couldn't.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely more than a mutter: "Can I speak to Jenny please?"

Margaret hadn't heard him. "What?" she asked, leaning forward. "Speak up. I can't hear you."

He said louder, "Can I speak to Jenny? Jenny Kroft?"

"Jenny Kroft?"

"Mm-hmm, she's a nurse here," Cody said. "Can I see her?"

_She'll tell me the truth. I can rely on her. Everyone else here I just can't trust. _

"She's busy right now, and she won't be on break for another twenty to twenty-five minutes. Are you sure you want to wait that long? Maybe you should go and come back later."

"No," Cody refused. "No, I think I'll just sit here and wait for her…if that's okay."

Margaret shrugged. "Whatever suits you. I'll contact her."

"Thanks."

As Margaret went for the phone at the side of her desk, Cody took a seat and began to wait.

He waited, and waited, and waited.

At one point, he thought an hour had passed, but when he turned his head and glanced at the clock on the far wall, he saw that it had only been ten minutes. He started to get antsy. His leg started to shake uncontrollably and his stomach began to hurt. His esophagus closed the way it did when he was on the verge of crying. "A lump in the throat" was the common way to describe it, but it felt much more like a shard of glass.

_The word "deceased" replayed in his head, over and over again: "Deceased, deceased, deceased…"_

_Like a meditative mantra._

_Like a requiem. _

Eventually, he couldn't take the pain anymore and went for a drink of water at the nearest fountain. It tasted like tar but he was grateful for the wetness, as it seemed to wash away the sore heap in his throat.

As he continued to wait, he continued to be haunted by the word "deceased."

_I'll never be able to think of that word the same way after today. _

And finally, once twenty-two minutes plus what felt like an eternity went by, the door to the left of the front desk opened and Jenny Kroft—looking lovely as ever, yet tired and distraught—walked out. When she spotted Cody, she flashed him a welcoming smile, but he could easily tell that it was masking another emotion: a negative one. Cody tried to read it, but he couldn't make out whether it was sadness or perplexity.

_Maybe it's a mixture of both. _

"What brings you here?" she asked upon approaching him. Slowly, as if she were fragile and prone to break, she sat herself down on the chair next to Cody's.

Cody got the hint that, deep down, she already knew the answer to her question. But he responded anyway: "I'm here to see George. I visited him last week, and he and I kind of got into a fight, so I came back here to apologize."

Jenny's expression morphed into what was clearly sadness.

"But there's one problem," Cody went on, thinking it best to explain his situation entirely. "The lady up there"—he pointed towards the front desk, where Margaret O'Donnell sat staring at her computer screen—"Ms. O'Donnell, she said that George was…deceased. As in…" _I can't even say the word now. God help me, what's wrong? _"…you know."

"Cody, I don't know how to tell you this." Jenny looked down at her hands, gazing at them as though what she had to say was written on them. "Last week, George—he, he killed himself. He'd been hiding his Depakote for days and no one knew about it; we only found out after the autopsy."

Cody gagged. _Autopsy?_

"We don't know why he did it—I've been wracking my brain ever since. But, uh, he's…he's dead. Cody, he's dead. He died in his room during the night, from an overdose." A tear trickled down Jenny's cheek. "I'm so sorry. He must have meant a lot to you for you to be coming back here to see him…but, he's gone."

Cody stared at her for a long while, mute and motionless, his brain frantically trying to sort through what she'd just told him. _George? Dead? Overdose? Hiding Depakote? _It was all too much. "Bullshit."

He stood up, looming over her, staring down at her as though she'd just stabbed him in the back. "Bullshit! What's this all about Jenny? Why are you lying to me? Why would you say something like that? George isn't dead! He _can't_ be dead. He's a fighter!" Flecks of his spittle hit her in the face. "Are you afraid I'll get him released? Is that it? Do you think my seeing him is a bad influence? If that's what it is than you're just like all the other assholes who work here! I guess they got to you, didn't they? I guess they trained you real well, huh? Deep down, you're just as bad as them—trying to deceive me, trying to throw me off, lying through your fucking teeth!"

"Cody, stop!" Jenny said once he'd paused long enough to allow her a chance to speak. "I know you're upset, but you're not making any sense."

"Mr. Martin!" Margaret O'Donnell added.

Cody didn't pay her any heed. "Don't play dumb with me, Jenny! I _know_ that tactic! You know what I'm talking about; don't even _think_ about pretending you don't!"

"Cody— "

"Where's George, Jenny? Where _is_ he? I want you to cut the crap and take me to him…NOW!"

"Mr. Martin!" Margaret O'Donnell repeated, standing up from her chair as though she planned to jump over her desk and restrain him.

Jenny raised her hand to stop her from taking action. "It's okay," she said. "Really, I've got this under control." Then she herself stood up and leaned in toward Cody. "Come with me."

Cody wondered why she didn't say anything to defend herself, but he didn't ask her; he was far more interested in seeing George than he was in rekindling their friendship. After this, he would never speak to her again. He would never even see her again. He could forgive her for being naïve and making unwise decisions, but _this_ little charade—telling him that George was dead, actually _dead_—was inexcusable. How could she do that?

Why would she do that?

She was supposed to be trustworthy. She'd been his one and only friend among the faculty of Fairoaks—an "insider" in the realm of authority.

But for whatever reason, she had changed.

_Perhaps it's some sort of defense mechanism that she's constructed to help her deal with what happened to her—the attempted rape. I bet walking down the hall where it took place is agonizing. I bet seeing Mr. Willner is worse. _

_But whatever. I don't care. It doesn't account for why she told me that George is dead. I don't get her motives. And I don't have to. _

_She must think I'm stupid. George isn't dead. He wouldn't commit suicide. Sure,_ I_ was capable of doing that, but not George. Not the rebel. _

Jenny opened the door to the main hallway and held it for Cody to pass through first. When they were both on the other side and it closed behind them, she began walking speedily down the length of the hallway. "I'm going to take you to the room," she said.

Cody knew which room she was talking about: room 312. George's room. His _former_ room.

They walked. They turned the familiar corners, went up the squeaky elevator, trudged through the many different hallways, and came to the oh-so-memorable Rosenberg Hall. As they walked down that hall, Cody all of a sudden felt cold—as though an invisible force had rid the area of all its warmth. His heart was pounding so hard, he could pin-point each pulse in his temple; his hands became clammy; his breaths, irregular.

_Calm down, calm down. No reason to be nervous. It's just George. It's just your old buddy._

_Damn it, calm the fuck down! Why are you so tense? Are you afraid he hates you now? Are you afraid he won't forgive you?_

_Yes…among other things. _

There it was. The metal door, the 312 on the wall next to it. Oddly, it looked ominous—like a warning, or a threat. A "Do Not Enter" sign; an order to "Turn Back."

Cody swallowed sour vomit as it crept up his esophagus. His intestines were as good as severed. He breathed. Breathed again.

He looked over at Jenny, who crossed her arms at him and said, "Well?"

"Can…can I go in?" His voice was so scratched it sounded meek.

"No," she replied. "Not anymore. Only patients and nurses are allowed in the rooms, but I _promise_ you, nobody's in there. Don't believe me, call for George."

Cody brought his fist up to the door, ready to knock, but paused. An overwhelming sense of dread took over him—similar to what a child feels when they're about to ask their parents for something obnoxious but already know that they're going to say no.

He made himself knock, out of dignity—out of need. _Knock, knock…_

There was no answer.

He did it again.

Still, no answer.

_He must be sleeping. He always was a heavy sleeper—that is, except for the nightmares. Oh dear God, George, please be sleeping. _

He knocked again, this time accompanying it by a timid "George?"

Nothing.

"George, do you hear me?"

Still nothing.

"Are you asleep? Wake up, George." He raised his voice. "Wake up!"

Nothing again.

"George, it's me…Cody. I came to see you again. Look, I understand if you're mad at me; I said some things you to that I shouldn't have. But I came back to apologize. I'm sorry, George. If I could take it all back I would. George?" Cody knocked again, harder. "George?"

He looked briefly at Jenny, hoping to find some level of encouragement in her—some level of assurance that, despite what she'd said earlier, George was in there and he could hear him.

There was none, but he couldn't believe otherwise. "George...George, listen, I want to make things right between us. I want us to forgive each other and move on, and tell jokes like we used to. The fact that I'm out here means nothing, George. I'm still the same old me—the same guy you told to 'stick it to the man.' Remember when you asked me about my brother, Zack?"—a tear slid down his face at the memory—"Remember when you asked me if he had my back and I said yes? Well, you'll never guess what he did. He marched right into this place and he told people off! He really did. And not only that, he was going to flatten my doctor! It was all because of what happened to me. We stuck it to the man, George. We let the man have it."

Jenny started crying softly, but Cody didn't turn to look at her. Another tear escaped his eye.

"Talk to me, George. Please…"

There was just silence from inside the room.

"Fuck, George, say something!"

He hit the door again with his knuckles, receiving more silence from within.

"George…?"

He knew that George wasn't in there—that Jenny and Margaret O'Donnell were telling the truth, that George had been in some overlooked obituary, his name present for no one to care—and that talking to a closed door wouldn't change that.

Nevertheless, he wasn't able to stop himself. In an instant, he began knocking furiously. Incessantly. Banging his knuckles against the door's hard, metal surface in frenzied hopelessness. His heart and soul drowning in anger and devastation.

Jenny, worried that he would harm himself, tried to grab his arms and pull them towards her. "Cody," she said softy, "Cody, that's enough."

Cody pushed her—literally _pushed_ her—away. "Fuck you!" he shouted. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

From behind doors further down the hall, he could hear patients stirring in their rooms, wondering what was going on. But he didn't care. He didn't give a damn.

"George! George, please…please answer me!" Cody yelled at the door, rejecting all sense and reason. "_Please_ be alive! You have to answer me. These people think you're _dead_, George! They think you _killed_ yourself! They want me to believe that—they want me to believe you left me!"

He knew what he was saying was illogical. Of course the people at Fairoaks would know if one of their patients was dead. But Cody didn't care about logic at the time. He couldn't.

He was bound to his irrational hope.

"George…" he was openly crying now. "George…_please_! I can't believe you would die on me! I need you! I love you!" He'd never before realized the truth of those words, or the gravity to them. But now, after screaming into an empty room at a corpse that had surely been buried by now, he did.

"_I'm invisible," _George had said. _"No one cares about me."_

No one had ever loved George.

"I love you, George!" Cody repeated, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I love you, I love you, I love you…"

Jenny pulled him from the door—carefully, ever so carefully—and leaned him against her chest.

He lost his footing and toppled to the floor, bringing her down with him.

"George, you can't leave me!"

She scooped him up in her arms, and together they crumbled into a mass of sobs.

…

George's tombstone was small—one of those flat markers that sat horizontally in the ground and were easy to step on.

Most of the others surrounding it stood up straight, at least two feet in the air, and were engraved with poetry, Bible texts, and personal oaths of sympathy. Not George's. His only had a name and year range: _George Tanner_, _1990 – 2013. _

The others were adorned with decorations such as flowers, crucifixes, and ceramic angels. George's wasn't. His had nothing like that at all.

But his did have something the others didn't—a boy named Cody Martin standing over it.

Cody was grateful to Jenny for telling him where George had been buried. He'd apologized to her for losing his temper and not believing her, and she had forgiven him and told him to let it go. Before he left Fairoaks, she'd given him one last hug and a kiss on the cheek.

They both promised to keep in touch.

George's tombstone made Cody want to cry. It looked so out of place. So inadequate. It practically screamed, "Here lies a poor sap that nobody cared about!"

Cody wondered if George's mother and sister knew he was dead. He wondered how they'd react if they did know.

He'd come to the cemetery for closure—for some feeling of resolution. But looking at George's grave wasn't giving him any of that. Just a bad case of depression. He tried to think of something to say, but no words felt appropriate under the circumstances.

_What can you say to a friend who killed himself and left you behind to be consumed by grief? _

Finally, he decided to be honest—to speak nothing but the raw, unembellished truth: "You know what, George? You really pissed me off. I thought I was your friend. Friends know better than to leave friends behind. I know we had an argument, but that's no excuse."

He sat down and began picking at the grass. He didn't want to stand; he wasn't sure if his weight could hold him up. "Part of me understands," he continued, twiddling a blade of grass in his fingers. "Part of me knows why you did it. Why should you have trusted me to come back after what we said to each other? You said so yourself, you've never had a real friend before. It's just…"—he swallowed to keep his voice from breaking—"it's so hard, you know? I want to be angry at you; I want to hate you. But I can't. You were never loved the way you should have been. I get that. You were never able to trust anyone. You thought you lost me, so you didn't want to live anymore."

Cody couldn't deny that he understood George. He understood George the same way that George had understood society. He knew what really propelled him to kill himself: lack of trust. George had never been able to be trust people. Everyone he trusted had ended up letting him down. Losing Cody—or the belief that he was losing Cody—was what had thrown him over the edge. A lack of Depakote in his system certainly hadn't helped him, but it made no difference in the long run because his life was no longer worth living anyway.

The heart can only take so much. Then it's had enough.

Cody stole a quick sideways glance at Zack, who was waiting for him in the cemetery parking lot with his back against his car and his arms and legs crossed. He had a worried expression on his face. He hadn't been too keen on Cody visiting his friend's grave so soon after his death. He had no disdain for George himself as he didn't know him, but the idea of Cody seeing his tombstone so early had concerned him. Cody's mind was in a fragile state right now; anything disheartening had the potential of being too much for him.

It had taken a lot of talking on Cody's part to get his big brother to drive him there. A lot of encouragement and reassurance. It'd been a pain in the ass trying to convince Zack that he was stable enough to handle it, but in a way, Cody was grateful for that.

It said so much about Zack.

"I know what you needed, George," Cody said, turning back toward the grave. "For the longest time I couldn't figure it out, but now I know—what you needed was someone to have your back. Someone to stand next to you. Like a brother."

Cody's chest heaved with pain as he said what he said next: "This is so fucked up, George. It's so twisted. I never realized what death could do to a person until now. I never understood the…pain." He tried to think of a better word to use—a more descriptive word—but none came to him. "Pain" seemed to be the only word that fit. "And you know what the _most_ painful part is? The knowledge that I'm just as guilty as you. I'm just as guilty as you, George. What I did to the people I care about—my mom, my dad, my friends, my brother…my own twin brother…" His eyes welled and he choked down a sob. Zack would have had a cow if he saw him lose it. "…I, I just can't…"

Cody wrapped his arms around his middle, holding himself steady as the weight of his faults hit him. He felt like he was going to collapse. His head started spinning. His vision blurred. His heartbeat sped up.

"Oh God, George…I can't breathe…I can't breathe!"

He couldn't help himself. He bowled over, his face impacting the ground, and began to hyperventilate.

Zack was by his side in an instant, rubbing his back, stroking his hair, and saying, "Ugh, I knew this was a bad idea! Come on, let's get you up."

He pulled Cody to his feet and walked him to the car.

They were going home.

…

Silence overcame the twins as they sat in the car. Cody laid his head against the passenger seat and turned his face toward the window as Zack started the engine and moved the gear shift down to Drive. Neither one of them had any desire to speak. However, it was only minutes before Zack let out a firm but contrite "You should never have come here."

"No, I'm glad I did," Cody disagreed. "I needed this." He felt somewhat like a hypocrite in saying that but he knew it was the truth.

Zack looked at him doubtfully but didn't comment. "Are you alright?" he asked instead.

Cody nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. I just need to get a hold of myself."

"I'm sorry about your friend. It must be hard."

Cody wasn't sure why, but those words came as a shock to him. Perhaps it was because Zack never knew George. _He's sorry for my loss. In a way, it's his loss too. Whenever I'm sad, he's sad. _"He was a real special person, you know? He taught me so much. He made me see life in a different light."

Zack didn't know but he nodded nonetheless, taking Cody's word for it. "How so?" he wanted to know.

"I can't explain. There aren't words."

There was another moment of silence in which Cody tried to dull his pain by breathing and counting. It didn't work. The pain was just too strong.

"He killed himself, Zack," he finally said. "He left me…intentionally. And it hurts _so _bad! It's like, I can't breathe. All this pain is smothering me." _And I can't give into it or else I'll die. _

Zack's response broke his heart: "Now you know how I felt."

_Oh God Zack, please don't say that, _Cody inwardly implored. _The very notion of that is too much for me._

Zack noticed Cody's horrible grimace and instantly regretted his words. Even though he was just being honest, he couldn't stand to see Cody so hurt. "I'm sorry, bro," he said remorsefully. "That was uncalled-for."

Cody shook his head. "No, you were right," he argued sadly. "I did this to you. What I'm feeling now, I made _you _feel. Only worse." His voice cracked without his ability to stop it. "I'll never forgive myself for that."

"Cody, man, it's not the same," Zack said. "It's nowhere near the same." He took his right hand off the wheel and briefly placed it on his brother's shoulder. "Don't you worry about me. I still have you. So long as I have you, I'll be okay. You just worry about yourself." He removed his hand from Cody's shoulder and placed it back on the steering wheel. "Look at it this way, Codes—your friend is resting now. He's sleeping. He's at peace."

_Sure, _thought Cody, _and would you have been able to tell yourself that had I died?_

Zack was able to assess what Cody was thinking judging by his expression, and he grew quiet again.

"I know," Cody remarked. "He _is_ sleeping. It's just…there's so many things I wish I could tell him. So many things I should have had the chance to say. I should have been able to apologize to him."

Zack was most interested in his last sentence. "What do you mean?" he questioned.

Cody took a deep breath, controlling himself. He did not want to reminisce on this, but now he had no choice. "George and I had a fight before he died."

"What was the fight about?" Zack was even more curious.

"About…about him knowing me."

"Knowing you?" Zack mused. "He'd just met you like a month ago."

"I know, but…he claimed he knew me. He said my whole life was a fake."

Zack took his eyes off the road and braved a short, hard stare at Cody. "Did you tell him about why you were sent to that place?"

Cody knew what he was talking about. "Yeah."

"You probably shouldn't have done that. That guy, George, he may have been a cool dude and all but, you should have kept in mind that he was sick—he was mentally unstable. It's not smart to tell people like that personal stuff."

Cody shook his head. Zack didn't understand; he'd never met George.

A silence that was awkward befell the twins.

Zack broke it: "What else did he say to you during the fight?"

Cody thought back, recalling the agonizing details of the confrontation. "He…he told me what kind of a person I am. He told me how I got this way."

"How could he possibly know?" Zack's tone was indignant. "He couldn't _presume_ to know you. He had no right to say any of that."

"But he was right, Zack." _True words. Very true words._ "Everything he said was right."

"How was it right?"

Cody looked at him. "I'm dead."

"What?" Zack asked incredulously.

"Dead," Cody repeated. "I'm dead."

"What do you mean you're dead? You're sitting right there."

"I know, but I'm dead…on the inside."

"You mean emotionally?"

Cody didn't answer his question. "I killed myself a long time ago," he said.

"You didn't kill yourself, Cody. You tried to, but you failed."

A pause. Cody looked pleadingly at Zack. "I'm so sorry, man. Everything I did was wrong."

"Don't worry about it, Codes," said Zack, wanting this abrupt turn in their conversation to be over. "Let's just get home."

It wasn't over. Far from it.

They say the truth will set a person free. And Cody was desperate for freedom. "Zack? There's something I have to tell you."

Zack waited, clearly a bit peeved that Cody refused to drop this but willing to hear whatever it was he had to say. That was what brothers did, after all.

"Remember the last time you came to visit me at Fairoaks? On the day I got sedated?"

"Of course I do."

"And remember what you said to me, about what I did?"

Zack remembered perfectly well what he'd said: "_You didn't blow your chest out because of some fucking whore who couldn't appreciate you.__ I know you better..." _That, as well as other things. He braced himself, anticipating what Cody was going to say next. He nodded in response to his question.

"You and I both know that Brianna"—saying her name no longer bothered Cody—"wasn't the real reason why I tried to…"

"Yeah," Zack confirmed, his voice a mixture of understanding and conviction as the new Zack and the old battled for the driver's seat in his head. "I always knew that."

"She was just a factor—a small factor that was easy to blame. She was a problem for me, but the truth is, I've been having problems for a very long time." Cody took another deep breath. This was hard, but he had to go on. He owed it to George, to himself, and to Zack to continue. There was no turning back now. He'd reached the point of no return.

_Blurt it out, _his conscience demanded. _Blurt it out. You'll feel much better if you do. _"It's all because I'm a twin." _There, it's out. But…why don't I feel better? Why do I just feel worse?_

_Because the truth hurts. Don't you know that by now? _

Zack was bewildered. "_WHAT?_"

"Zack, ever since we were little," Cody explained, "people always compared me to you. I was always the 'nerdy' one, or the 'annoying' one, or the 'uninteresting' one. I was always just…your little brother."

"You _are _my little brother, Cody," Zack intervened.

"That's not what I mean," Cody said. "What I mean is, I was always just 'the younger twin,' or 'the boy who looks like Zack.' I didn't have an identity. I was just an add-on to you! A clone with your DNA!"

"Cody…!" Zack gasped. Involuntarily, he began to speed up. The speed limit was 40 and he was going about 57.

Cody knew his brother was hurt, but that didn't stop him. He felt himself flare with anger. And as the anger grew, his words came pouring out of him: "I messed everything up, Zack. I've been messing everything up since we were kids—my life, your life, the lives of the people we love…_everything. _I turned my whole existence into a lie. I've been lying to myself since God knows when!"

"Wh-how?" Zack was thoroughly confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I changed myself, man! I changed myself so I could be different from you! You were the star of basketball, so I decided I sucked at it; you were good at hitting on girls, so I convinced myself I had no chance; you hated school, so I made myself love it. Do you understand? Everything I am—everything you know me to be—is because of you!"

"Wait, you're blaming me?" Zack sped up some more. He was going over 60 now.

"_No_!" Cody intoned. "I'm blaming myself. I refused to see myself for what I was, so I _made_ myself, Zack! I constructed myself into who I thought I wanted to be. But you know what? I hated it. I fucking _hated_ it! What I really wanted was to be like you. I _always _wanted to be like you, Zack. You were my hero."

Zack desperately did not want to cry, but before he could prevent it, he started to. "Cody," he said through an unsuppressed sob, "bro, I am _not_ worthy to be anyone's hero. Least of all yours. All the times I mistreated you…"

"Zack, none of that ever mattered to me! I always knew you didn't mean it. In fact, I loved you for it. You were a real brother to me!"

"You deserved better than me, Cody. I was an awful brother to you."

Cody couldn't believe that Zack would so much as think that (let alone say it). "What was so awful about you? What did you ever do that was _so _bad…?"

"I left you, Cody!" Zack yelled, crying even harder. "I left you when you came to me for help! You needed me, and I _left_ you! For the longest time, I thought the person I was angry at in all this was you. I blamed _you _for ruining everything. But now I see that it was my fault from the beginning. If I had been half the brother I should have been…then none of this would have happened. If anyone needs forgiveness, Cody, it's me."

_Don't cry, Cody. Don't cry. Be strong for Zack now. Be strong for the both of you. _"Zack, listen to me…what I did to you, that would have happened no matter what. Because it was me, Zack. It was all me. All you did was trust me when I shouldn't have been trusted, and try to go on with your normal life. My being such a fuck-up is not on your shoulders. It never was, and it never will be. Don't hate yourself for that, okay?"

Zack couldn't drive anymore. He was crying too much. As soon as he saw a shoulder off the side of the road, he pulled into it and stopped the car.

Once the car was in Park, he leaned against the steering wheel and cried into it.

Cody scooted across his seat and wrapped his big brother in a tight embrace. It was his turn to be the protective one. "It's okay, buddy. It's okay. I'm here," he whispered. "I've got you."

Zack turned from the wheel and buried himself against Cody. His arms enfolded him in return and he sobbed for a good, long while. "You know what the funny thing is?" he said once he'd calmed down enough to speak.

"What?"

"I always wanted to be more like you."

Then they both burst into a stream of tears.

Zack cried in Cody's arms and Cody cried in Zack's arms, and they both cried together. Shamelessly.

Eventually they should have collapsed from exhaustion, but they didn't.

They shared each other's strength.


	21. Chapter 21

**Well, everyone…it's been fun. ;)**

**This is officially the last chapter of **_**Boy, Disrupted. **_**And it's the epilogue (that's why it's so short); it's an overview of where the twins end up. I must say, I have mixed feelings about completing this story. I'm kind of sad because writing it was such an enthralling experience, but I'm also excited because I'm done with my first fanfic and (almost) ready to do a sequel. I think on the whole, I'm more pleased than anything. Finishing a story is quite an accomplishment. :) **__

**Anyway, as for the sequel, **_**Boy, Reinvented, **_**it's going to contain many things: mixed feelings, past demons, job searching, a life-altering adventure, and the none-too-easy process of moving on. Plus, there's going to be a HUGE twist at the end. I'd tell you more, but I don't want to spoil too much. :)**

**I want to give another "thank you" to all my wonderful reviewers. A special thanks to: Waldojeffers, Elianna22, tiger002, JDHarris1990, woundedhearts, Wyntirsno and xAlL-tHiNgS-sUiTe-LiFe-RoCkSx for all the encouragement, analysis, praise, and support. I can't thank you guys enough! And thank you to everyone else! I really wish I could list you all but it would take too long. A million times, thank you! I'm deeply grateful for all your words. :)**

**Enjoy the epilogue! And stay tuned for the sequel. ;) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC's.**

Zack and Cody had hit rock-bottom. But the good thing about hitting rock-bottom is: the only way left to go is up.

Step by step, day by day, they were moving up. It wasn't easy. If anything, it was a test. They were forced to challenge each other—and themselves—a little every day to make sure that they were climbing the ladder of recovery. It was hard. It was downright grueling at times. But they both knew it was worth it.

They talked to each other quite a bit—sorting things out, asking questions, making promises. Cody told Zack more about George and Zack opened up about the kiss that he and Bailey had shared (which, he swore, had been a mistake); to the older twin's surprise, Cody took the news rather well. Cody told Zack, with much disdain, about his therapy sessions with Dr. Thompson and, in return, Zack gave him a full synopsis of what he'd done to land himself in the police station. They came clean about feelings of suppression and being overshadowed, while making sure to remind each other of their love.

Their conversations lasted well into the night on most days. They had a great deal to confess.

They didn't _just_ have each other though. Other people were present during their healing process. Their parents were there, constantly offering support; Jenny Kroft and Dr. Maps visited them frequently (Jenny was thrilled to meet Cody's twin brother); Mr. Moseby came to check on them whenever he could; London Tipton dropped by every now and then and gave them her regards; and of course, Bailey Pickett was there for them. Eventually she had to fly back to Kansas, but that didn't stop her from being involved in their well-being. On the day she left for the airport, she promised both brothers that she would email and call them as often as she could.

She kept her promise.

The most important part of any healing process is to pick up the broken pieces of a shattered life and put them back together. Sometimes, to avoid a relapse, they must be rearranged. Or replaced.

Zack knew, even though he had his brother back, that he would not be able to live in his house anymore. Setting foot in it after the incident had been agonizing, and he knew it would always be that way. The house had memories now. It had nightmares. Zack would condemn himself to living in the past if he were to live in that house any longer.

So he sold it.

He would look for another place, but in the meantime, live at the Tipton…just like in the old days of his childhood.

Similarly for Cody, he couldn't bear to go back to Yale. For one thing, Brianna was there (the thought of being anywhere near her was beyond him), and for another, so were the memories of his descent into depression—of everything that had ultimately thrown him into, what he now called, "the darkness." He couldn't stand to be near them either. So he retrieved his transcripts (he grades were good for the most part) and applied to Harvard. He wrote a fantastic entry essay on the bond between him and Zack and was immediately accepted.

A huge plus about going to Harvard, besides the obvious, was that it was closer to home. He could drive back and forth between school and home as often as he wanted, and didn't have to deal with homesickness. Part of him almost wished he'd chosen Harvard in the beginning.

In addition to these changes, there was change all around. The twins' father, Kurt, was around more often; he figured his sons needed him more than his band members did, so he held off touring and performances for months at a time and stayed at the Tipton with Carey and the boys.

Carey continued to sing, but Moseby made her shows less frequent than they had been so she too could spend time with her boys. She was very grateful to him for that. Her free time also enabled her to have more energy and do some of the things she'd wanted, but had never been able, to do in the past.

Family time became almost a norm.

There was change circling the outside world as well. Jenny Kroft visited the Tipton one day and announced to Cody that she'd quit working at Fairoaks. She couldn't take it anymore, she said. And it wasn't just walking down that hallway where the assault took place; it was—as she'd put it—"everything else." For the sake of survival, she began working at a nursing home, but that was intended to be temporary until she found a clinic that was hiring and would take her. Nursing homes weren't exactly her forte, but she'd deal with it so long as she had to.

Cody was happy for her. She deserved better than Fairoaks anyway.

Interestingly enough, as fate would have it, Cody was walking to his car one afternoon as soon as he'd gotten done with his classes when, out the corner of his eye, he saw a newspaper dispenser. He wasn't much for reading newspapers, but the headline of this one caught his attention: "Local Doctor Being Sued for Misconduct." He tried to read it through the glass of the dispenser but the smudges made it difficult, so he dropped a quarter into the payment slot and bought one. He read the first story while standing there; it was about a doctor at a psychiatric institution getting fired for misconduct when he'd made one of his patients cry and threaten to commit homicide during a therapy session. The patient's angered family was trying to sue him for it.

The psychiatric ward was Fairoaks Asylum. And the fired doctor was Dr. Thompson. There were pictures of both.

_Ah, sweet justice, _Cody thought. _Totally worth that quarter._ Then he continued the walk to his car.

That had been a good day.

As usual with life, not everything was good. One thing about pain—real pain—is that it lessens with time but never goes away. Even months after Cody told Zack the true reason behind his attempted suicide, he still endured the shame of it. He had to look at his loved ones every day, see their anguish over what he'd done, and know that he was the source of it. He had to withstand his brother's bad dreams, his mother's crying, his father's silent contemplation, and his friends' inner conflict as they said "How you doing, Cody?" or "Good night, Cody," or "See ya later, Cody," when really what they wanted to say was, "Please don't kill yourself, Cody." Not to mention, he also had to live with his own regret, which very well may have been torture.

The question that haunted him now was: what was he going to do? And more specifically, how was he going to do it? He couldn't just live in the shadow of memory. And acknowledgment wasn't enough. He needed change—he needed modification. On one hand, he sought forgiveness for his past; on the other, he sought reestablishment for himself (as a person who could put the past behind him). He needed not only to accept his actions, but to fix the problem that had caused those actions in the first place. And he had no clue how to do either.

Trial and error was all he had to go on.

And he couldn't fully let go of the past. The memories were too intense for that. That was a disadvantage for him in some ways, but in others it was a benefit. He would never forget George, or the first time he met Jenny, or the day Dr. Maps told him about his little brother, or the patients he'd become acquainted with. He'd learned so much from them. They'd each bore their own level of significance. In a way, all these Fairoaks-related events came together and served as a giant tapestry—an image that showed him the error of his ways. Due to that alone, there was a bit of gratitude mixed in with his disdain for the time he'd spent there.

In a way, it had made him stronger.

He was fully aware that he would never see some of those people he'd met at Fairoaks again (and of course, he was doomed to never see George). But not one day went by when his heart didn't find them.

Life wasn't "happily ever after" for Zack either. Though he was ecstatic that his brother was alive and healthy, he had to deal with the aftermath of his trauma. Nightmares plagued his sleep, and every time he looked at Cody he was reminded of the depressed brother who'd just shot himself and was dying on the floor of his room. He remembered the blood, and the fear, and the tears, and the loss of consciousness…it was like ice in the back of his mind that never melted.

He had to go on living with the knowledge and the understanding that his little brother once tried to leave him an only child. At times, that felt like more than his heart could bear.

And he still had a split personality.

The new Zack was still there, lingering inside him—rebellious and vindictive. Taking control whenever he could, or whenever the old, original one couldn't handle things. Zack knew he'd always be there. Vague as fog, but as real as anything in the world ever could be. He loathed him, and feared him, and tried to beat him down every time he arose to the surface…but he could not get rid of him. Being rid of him would have equaled being rid of a piece of his soul.

Zack had to accept the fact that he was a vessel for two identities. Divergent and intolerant of each other, with the unrelenting desire to be trusted. He existed as two separate people, cut from one.

Like a torn individual.

Like a boy, disrupted.


End file.
